Fight For Me
by bo-leigh bella
Summary: When Christine journeys to the cemetary for solace, she cannot find comfort but instead encounters the very source of her turmoil. As she fights for answers and he fights for love, can broken hearts become whole again? Book and movie details/events. Please read and review!
1. Watching, Wishing

**A/N Hi everyone! First off. Let me just say how much I have missed my involvement in FF. Even though I was working on my stories, I still missed the reviews and pms my wonderful readers so generously gave me. Well now I am back with a new story for all of you. Be aware, this tale sort of mixes the Leroux and Webber stories, some details may seem different and that would be why. **

**I truly hope you enjoy this new tale, as I have tried to write it quickly so I wouldn't be missing too long.**

**BEAUTIFUL COVER ART-The wonderful image I have used as a cover is not at all my work. It belongs to Muirin007 on . She has sweetly allowed me to use some of her stellar pieces as covers. Please check out her profile and more lovely pictures. The link can be found on my profile as FF won't let me post it here. :)**

**Also, a big thanks to everyone who reviewed Lost Love, I Will Wait, and The One She Runs To. I am grateful for each and every one. **

**Please enjoy and please review!**

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The air was freezing. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, swirling on the wind and attaching themselves to Christine's beautiful brown curls. Erik watched from afar, following her within the shadows of the cemetery. He went slightly ahead, knowing what her final destination here would be. Her father's grave.

Perhaps it was sacrilegious to envy the dead, but Erik couldn't help himself. He coveted the devotion and eternal love Christine lavished upon her father's memory. How he ached to know the experience of holding that sort of love. But not anyone's love, only Christine's. The single person upon the earth whose esteem he valued and heart he sought.

Even now she seemed to unintentionally mesmerize him. Her expression was tragic and forlorn, mourning. She always held these traces of sadness when she visited the cemetery. It amazed Erik to see how much sorrow she hid in the face of society. But today as she walked through the sacred grounds, she let her emotions be free and uninhibited, her sorrow on blatant display.

Her attire was entirely black, the deep color highlighting the paleness of her porcelain skin. Her every delicate feature was intoxicating to him, from her cheeks flushed in pink hues with cold, to the slow languid gait of her walk. Her breaths came out as icy puffs in the air, decorating the space around her in crystal. To him that seemed only appropriate. Christine was magic if it existed. How apt that the air around her sparkled.

How he ached just to watch her. She was the most exquisite being in existence and it tore at him to know his hideousness would never compare to her innocent beauty. He knew himself a fool to think she would ever truly love him. Yet, he could not stop striving for that hopeful, seemingly impossible thought.

As he glanced at the tears forming at the edges of her eyes, he could not help feeling that he was their cause. He should have known better! Christine had always been unendingly curious. Erik should have seen the threat of disaster before it had had the chance to occur and hurt them both. Then he could have avoided his scene of madness and anger. How he hated the hazy memory. He wanted to deny that he had treated her so harshly, but could not. The proof still rested as fading bruises on her wrists. Mementos of the damage he had caused by throwing her to the stone floor of his home. Those marks made guilt intensify.

But he never would have been so cruel if she had not been heartless first. How could she? He had trusted her with everything! His world, his music, his entire life. Yet she couldn't be satisfied when he still had a single secret to hide. The mask.

Removing that one piece of artifice had thrown their lovely illusions into nothing but chaos and pain. She had seen the damage of his twisted face and he hated the reality it had brought. She could never un-know the distortions of his scars. He feared the memory of them alone would ruin any hope of rebuilding their relationship.

It was those same fears that sent him into a rage too pure to stifle. Erik hurt too much to contain the anguish. Perhaps he could have controlled his temper had fate not taunted him. But instead he burned as Christine was pushed by his idiot managers out of lime light at the impudent diva Carlotta's request. Then her long lost, terribly perfect Vicomte showed up to woo her. How dare he expect her to fall into his arms? And how dare s_he_ do exactly that? His heart had already been fractured by her callous actions. Must she wound him more by pursuing his dashing rival? Erik's mind had been so consumed, he barely thought when Buquet attempted to seize him. He simply reacted. The monster inside him had been begging for blood and Buquet, unfortunately, suffered the backlash.

But that action had been the greatest mistake of all. Dropping the hanged man to prove his dominance may have returned his power as an Opera Ghost. But, it had also lost him his beautiful Christine. He could recall vividly her terrified features when she glimpsed his crime.

He wondered sadly now if her tears were in fear of her terrible, black-hearted angel. Surely she must hate him now that he had proved every vicious rumor she ever heard to be true. He was the murdering freak everyone believed him to be. He was the heartless demon they all feared. He _was_ the Opera Ghost and now had no power to deny it.

Suddenly his self-loathing ceased in lieu of Christine's whispers. "You promised an angel, Father." Her hushed voice carried across the wind to him. That one line held more desolation than he could ever hope to put into words. Each one cut him to his core, lashing at his conscience.

An angel! Her father had promised an angel and Erik had exploited the belief for his own personal desires. It had been the darkest of deeds to have deceived such innocence. He had thought it his only way to be with her. But now he looked back on the decision as his first mistake. How laughable to think he could have pretended to be a heaven sent when the world knew him to be from hell.

Yet, he had wished for nothing more than to be her true guardian, her protector. She truly embodied purity and he longed to keep that sacred gift from the world's sinful clutches. How ironic that he became the one to ruin her. Erik had only wanted to be with her, without hiding behind mirrors and speaking through walls. What folly it had been! He should have expected no less. Didn't he spoil everything he touched?

Erik's jaw clenched as he fought against self-hatred. He never intended to hurt her. And yet he had just the same. He simply wished for a chance, a single chance to win her back. To demonstrate that he was more than the world deemed him. But he feared his unpredictable temper and damnable mask would hinder any attempt he could hope to make to mend their bond. Hadn't they already destroyed her trust and broken her faith to bits?

Erik's inner battle suddenly ceased as he heard a surprising sound rising over the rustling leaves and soft, howling wind. His brows rose in unguarded shock as he listened to her voice. Sweet heavens above, had anything ever sounded so sad yet so undeniably beautiful? The words were foreign to him. If the song existed, he had never chanced to hear it. Yet he suspected otherwise. He had long ago helped Christine to overcome fears, battle frustrations, and express the unspeakable, unmanageable emotions she felt through music. It was an exercise he had employed to teach her how to truly_ feel_ what she sang.

Hearing her now, he believed this to be one of the times she needed music's sphere to sort out her emotions. In its possession she could express without fear of judgment and reproach.

"_You were once my one companion,_

_You were all that mattered_."

Erik flinched. Was it him she sang of? And if it was, how could he have been the source of such sorrow?

"_You were once my friend and father,_

_Then my world was shattered."_

Of course! How presumptive to believe it was him she missed. Yet Erik still felt bitter disappointment at the realization. It hardly surprised him. No one had ever mourned his absence, why should she?

"_Wishing you were somehow here again,_

_Wishing you were somehow near,_

_Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed,_

_Somehow you would be here."_

Oh that voice! Christine's instrument was Erik's greatest and proudest accomplishment. Never had he heard such exquisite tone and pitch. Without his volition his eyes fluttered shut, so his ears could better appreciate the splendor he had been denied for too long. As much anger and hurt as he harbored in his heart, every desolate feeling and lingering pain faded in the glory of her serenade to him. In his mind Erik could hear instruments playing softly behind her. Each one harmonizing and complimenting the notes she chose. The imagined tune was so lovely it sent shivers down his spine. Or perhaps it was simply hearing her, really hearing her again.

Her recent rehearsals had been not even near to the standards he had set for. The music was perfect, every note precise and correct. But the soul behind it was not. Her heart seemed…lost and empty.

But now she sang with emotion so raw and consuming, Erik could hardly endure the sorrow. She was making him feel every ache along with her. His heart was being tangled by her sadness and his own ecstasy. The confusion made his mind turn with conflicting thoughts and he soon found himself falling behind her graceful procession. No! He needed to remain focused. He must find a way to redeem himself for Christine.

* * *

Christine could swear she was being torn slowly in two. She felt confused, tormented by feelings she could not explain yet couldn't deny.

She had awoken in the early hours of dawn with too many painful thoughts and yearnings to deal with alone. And though Raoul slumbered outside her apartment, his hadn't been the comfort she needed. Instead Christine had turned to her father, long gone, for comfort. She was seeking solace but the cemetery was only serving to damage her bruised soul more. Its cold stones were taunting her with their unfeeling faces. She had come seeking answers and safety, but she hadn't even reached her father's memorial and she knew should would find neither here. Because her father wasn't here to help her and the one man she would have run to any other time was the very source of her turmoil.

The Phantom of the Opera. She shuddered just to think the title's consonants. She felt like an ignorant child. How had she believed him an angel? And why did she miss him even after he revealed himself to be the infamous Opera Ghost?

When he had been her Angel of Music, Christine had loved him without knowing a single bit of shame to mar its purity. How she had loved him specifically, she could not have said. He acted as her ever thoughtful mentor, her most sincere confidante, and also her ever adoring companion. When he had been a golden voice behind a mirror's glass, she could have loved him perhaps as more than just her caring friend. She used to ponder as much often, dreaming girlish fantasies of a life with her angel.

But then her heavenly teacher had proven to be someone entirely different. Someone dark, someone mysterious, and someone that all the people around her had lived in fear of. When Christine had taken his mask she had been frightened, it was true. But outside of her shock at his face she had felt pity for the creature he had become. Society had shunned him all because of a simple face. Now, however, she felt a terror when she thought of the body of Buquet swinging from the rafters. A face could be accepted, but deeds such as that gruesome murder could not be condoned. Could they?

Her mind was reeling in endless circles, trying to condemn him, longing to condone him. Christine had attempted to erase his memory. But his music was everywhere. HE was everywhere. And yet nowhere. Since his murder, her Phantom had been missing. His absence should have been welcomed by her, but Christine missed him. In times between rehearsals she often sat gazing at her mirror, willing him to return, not even knowing what she would do if he did. Would she curse him? Would she comfort him? She didn't know_. She didn't know!_

Unable to decipher her own desires she now only wanted refuge from the complications of her heart. And still relying on the teachings of her Angel, she had let her voice ring out to make sense of it all. She sang of her father, how she wished she could simply have him with her, especially now, to guide her as only her gentle father could.

"_Passing veils and sculpted angels_

_Cold and monumental_

_Seem for you the wrong companions _

_You were warm and gentle"_

Her dear father didn't belong in this dismal place. But then instead of the grave yard before her, she could see behind her lids the rigid, dank catacombs, every bit as dreary and solemn. Then, without her realizing it, her song became less about loss of her father, and more of loss for her Angel.

Then she had to fight her own torrent of desolation as she admitted how broken his disappearance had left her. And she began to beg herself, her father, her God, whoever would listen to help her.

"_Too many years fighting back tears,_

_Why can't the past just die!"_

Why couldn't she let her father rest in peace? Why couldn't she let the memory of masked man go? Must wounds, both past and present, always haunt her? Then finally, she sang with all the conviction stirring in her mind the thoughts she was ashamed to feel.

"_Wishing you were somehow here again_

_Knowing we must say goodbye _

_Try to forgive, teach me to live_

_Give me the strength to try"_

Christine was shaking with her need to absolve herself of the sin of missing a murderer. She wanted the power to move on, but she didn't know if she desired to.

"_No more memories_

_No more silent tears_

_No more gazing across _

_The wasted years"_

She called them wasted because now it seemed as though all of her work with her teacher had been nothing but pretense. How could he truly care if he left her? But WHY did she care that he did? She hated the thought of mourning more for his loss.

"_Help me say goodbye_

_Help me say goodbye"_

Was it really such a hard thing to bid farewell to what should be a horrid nightmare? Christine did not understand. And even though she had tried every solace she knew, she still felt no better or wiser. So, defeated, she sat in the snow beneath her father's simple grave, clutching red roses that only served to remind her of her grief.

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**This story is a bit different from my others, but I sincerely hope you will like it.**

**Also, many thanks to my fantastic Beta Starcrier! You are amazing darling, thanks for your advice and helping me write this story :)**

**Please, please, please, let me know what you thought of this first chapter in a REVIEW! **

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	2. Conflicted

**I'm a very excited about this new story. I hope that everyone who reads it will enjoy it and want more after each chapter. Just for everyone's information, I will be trying to update this story every 2 weeks or less (if I am ahead in my writing). But I will try my best to keep the interval reasonable. **

**Thank you to everyone one who favorited, followed, read, and reviewed this story :)**

**Acknowledgments:**

**Max-rose-clary- Thank you so much for saying so about my characterization of Christine. It truly was a weak point for me for a while, but I am delighted that you think I have improved (and also that you think I've always written the mesmerizing Erik well) **

**Phanatic01- Thank you for saying so about the fluidity (if that makes since) of this tale. Hope you enjoy the 2****nd**** chapter **

**Bella- I am glad you thought their emotions to be in character and that you thought my take of Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again made sense. Hope this update did not take too long. **

**Fudgy Muffins-So happy you enjoyed it and liked the different point of views.**

**Sheepshanks- Much love for your excitement over the new story. Also, I thought that line quite amusing as well. As potent as Erik's frustration is, it can also be sort of funny (just don't tell him I said so) **

**Nami Swannn- Thanks for liking my reasoning behind Christine's song. Also, nice to know you found our beloved cast to be in character. So excited you're looking forward to it. I am too, writing this one has proved to be very fun so far. **

**Laurie-Thank you and I am trying to continue it as quickly as I can manage. **

**Starcrier-Thank you for being a phenomenal BETA who is always ready to discuss and critique. I love how you focus on even tiny details (Like helping me pick a title). Much love darling!**

**(If you didn't or don't want to be mentioned in my acknowledgments please leave a "No PR" (no personal response) at the end of your review. Otherwise, I will take the time to thank you for your kind, thoughtful, and helpful reviews!)**

* * *

Erik stood, awestruck by a voice he thought he had known so well. But Christine's song had been more vulnerable than he had ever seen her be. Her lament had seemed to stretch beyond simple yearning for her father. But whatever the other motives behind her song had been, he could only guess.

But he felt transfixed and equally horrified by what he had just witnessed. When his beloved had begged the past to die, to leave her memory, she had let something in her core loose he had never had the pleasure and lingering pain to see before. Her carefully molded, finely trained voice had shifted its beautiful pitches to something more than merely singing. It was as though she had pushed her voice past its limits into a scream, a wild plea begging mercy from whatever memories that haunted her. Erik couldn't even put into words the sound of the anguish. A literal scream would have grated her tone to ugliness and had she thrown her soprano into a forceful belt, it would have audibly strained her lovely chords.

But the sound of that entreaty had been one of the most exquisite moments of music Erik had ever been a part of. He could have tried to duplicate the emotion pent up behind that single lyrical moment, but he knew he would have failed.

As elated as he was to realize she had truly lived in music, even if only for mere seconds, he was frightened that the impetus behind it was obviously hurt. He hadn't imagined the extent until he heard her express it through her impromptu concert. Had she cared to try and explain what she felt, Erik knew she could not have made him understand even a fraction of what her music had told him.

And what she had said through the language of her song, it reached farther than the words she chose. Erik didn't know how or why, but Christine was lost and conflicted. All he desired was to rescue her, help her find herself and put aside the memories that seemed to be inflicting such turmoil on her mind.

He gritted his teeth knowing he would probably prove to be more of a hindrance than help to her. Obviously she had counted her angel out of giving her comfort. Then a sudden thought occurred to him and his brows drew down in minute confusion; she hadn't sought refuge in her Vicomte either.

That single idea made an illogical hope surge through him. Perhaps Christine hadn't sought him out, but she also had not trusted her plight with her idiotic Vicomte. Doubtless he would not have understood whatever it was that troubled her.

But Erik wanted to be the hero for her this time, instead of the villain everyone around them had cast him as. Glancing at her small, forlorn shape only reinforced his sudden urge. Powdery snow was beginning to cover her cape as she sat staring at her father's grave.

Softly, with regret and cursed timidity he could not hide, he called out, "_Ange,_ Christine?"

Her eyes flew up in startled apprehension. So many emotions crossed her expression, Erik struggled to read even one. He watched in slight confusion as Christine attempted an unconcerned façade. This apathy was as equally foreign as it was frustrating to him.

"Why did you follow me here?" she asked in an almost angry manner.

"What kind of angel would I be if I did not watch over you?" he questioned sadly.

"Ah, are you my angel again? Strange, I haven't seen him in weeks. I had decided I was forgotten and unwanted," her voice broke without her consent on the final sentence.

Erik felt an acute pain at the accusation, but also a rise of anger. Did she really think that _he_ was the one who wanted this? How could she?

"What a coincidence," he replied coolly, "I was under a similar impression. You see, I had this distinct inkling that my presence was no longer desired in lieu of a most dashing rival to take my place. Correct me if I am wrong, of course. But it seemed as though you wanted to forget me." His words faded slightly as he attempted to hide the sadness she had forced upon his heart.

Christine was now standing, her small, gloved hands shaking in restraint of too many emotions to count. Her angel was here! He was back! But she was angry and so was he. His last words had made her furious, because she had been hurting so much because of him and now he was trying to deny that she even thought of him. "I _never_ forgot you!" she yelled with a desperation that shocked them both. Then hopelessly she continued, "I wish I could."

Erik flinched at those words, physically feeling their sting. "Why?"

"Why?" she questioned back with an incredulous laugh, searching for his shape among the snow. "You killed someone. Forgive me if I do not seek to rejoin the company of a murderer."

Erik's expression darkened, she didn't know the half of it! She acted as though he had killed without thinking…without remorse. But he read her too well. "What else? You underestimate me if you think I cannot see that there is more behind your coldness." He deftly leapt down from his hiding place atop a memorial and stood before her, the better to make her see and feel as he did.

Her angel was so close, it took all of her will not to reach out to him or beg him to take her into his arms and protect her. No! No, she couldn't. "You hurt me." She whispered the reminder to herself as much as to him. She peered up at him with her blue eyes, not attempting to hide her admission. She watched his intense gaze immediately flash to her wrists, recalling the bruising damage he had left behind when last they had met.

Christine felt the slightest relief. Let him think it was physical pain she begrudged him. She could never let him know it went far beyond simple marks upon her skin. No, her phantom had left a wound on her heart that didn't seem to heal no matter how she tried to forget or be happy. She had cared for him and he had crushed her, taken her emotions and twisted them until she could hardly _feel_ anything without questioning it.

_Hurt_ her. The phrase resounded sickeningly in his mind. He struggled not to cringe before her and show her what power she had over him. "I am sorry," he said gently. "That is something… I would never want to do."

The apology took Christine by surprise. The tenderness in his voice threatened to overwhelm her. Without meaning to she said, "I know."

Erik's blue-green eyes flashed to hers in astonishment. Her admission was more than he dared to hope for. "Then how are you still so distant with me if you know I never meant you harm? You have already cast me as your antagonist without even seeing through my eyes or caring to understand me. How is that fair, Christine?"

Christine looked away, not daring to meet those entrancing eyes any longer. His questions, despite her resistance, were valid. She had never given a thought to what his motives had been. They shouldn't matter when his deeds had been so dark, should they? "That wouldn't change anything," she stated firmly.

"Well, you wouldn't know, would you?" he asked harshly. "You rarely give any thought to how I feel." Suddenly he spoke lowly, more to himself than her. "Villains aren't allowed to feel, are they? No, we are only self-centered evil creatures who think only of the pain and hardship we can cause others."

Christine felt grief fill her chest. "I never said that!" she cried.

"You didn't have to," he responded, equally vehement. "I daresay your actions have said more than enough." Erik was filled with disgust, partly at Christine, but most for himself for having hoped things between them could have changed. He had wanted a fantasy reunion, but obviously that was not going to happen. He doubted she would ever give him the chance to explain. Hearing her now, it probably wouldn't even matter. Ignorant fool! Why had he yielded to temptation and followed her?

"You are a coward, Christine Daae," he declared angrily. "You flee from the first sign of difference or what you perceive to be evil without attempting to understand it. Even though _clearly_, you are conflicted over what you want. Say what you will to protest, but I haven't seen an ounce of passion in your performance since I left until today. I will not presume to guess what made you emote in your song this evening. But something changed while I was absent and I cannot stand to see you letting yourself fall to pieces anymore. Go ahead and blame me, curse me, hate me, but for God's sake _feel_ something again! I am not afraid of your resentment, but I am terrified of you losing the magnificent fire you once possessed. If I must abduct you and force music back into your soul, I will do it. Or if leaving permanently will reanimate your silent little soul, I can arrange that just as easily. What will it take, Christine? What do you need? And if you dare try and deceive me with lies I will know, pray be honest. You owe me that at least."

"I owe you nothing," she answered cuttingly.

"I am not going to argue with you," he replied hotly. "Give me an answer or I shall pick the option most appealing to me." Threats came much too easily to him. He did not originally plan to frighten her. But his plan to pull her back into his world was tempting, even if she did not desire that. "Do you wish me to leave you, Christine?" he demanded, tired of playing these guessing games with her. Let her banish him and be done with it. He had danced around this question for fear of the answer for too long. No more.

"No!" she immediately yelled, shaking her head back and forth so vigorously, it shocked him. He had expected her to take his offer gladly and push him out for good. She would no longer need to worry if he would intrude on her life anymore.

Hesitantly he offered his other plan. "Then…do you wish to rejoin my world? To come back with me?"

Christine kept her head bowed toward the snowy ground, unable to answer yes or no, because she wanted to say both intensely. She raised her gloved hands to wipe her eyes, hoping he would think it from the wind and snow, not from the tears she was attempting to hide.

"Will you give me another chance, Christine? Please?" he begged softly. Then he heard the sound of horse's hooves approaching. He knew that would most likely be the Vicomte coming to rescue Christine. "Now or never!"

Silently, two small hands stretched up towards him. Erik didn't miss a beat and pulled her up into his arms and had them out of sight before Raoul set foot inside the gates of the cemetery.

"Are you sure, Christine?" he whispered as they heard the boy's frantic shouts. She was trembling in his arms, eyes wide with mixed emotions.

"No," she answered simply. "But I do not think I ever will be. Let's go, please, before I regret this."

Erik did not wait to be told again. Honestly, if she had begged to leave with the Vicomte, he was not sure he possessed the will to let her go.

Silently he took them out of the grave yard and mounted his horse behind her. Using his own pathways, they would easily beat the Vicomte back to the Opera Populaire and be safely hidden away with no one the wiser.

The journey seemed endless with her rigid frame in front of him. He could sense her resistance, like a wall guarding her thoughts and her feelings, keeping him out and away. He mentally groaned knowing he would have to shatter those defenses quickly if he was to have even a shot of winning her back.

But, for the moment, he reveled in the bliss of feeling her warmth against his chest. Distant or no, she had come back with him. And he would take that blessing for what it was worth.

* * *

As they journeyed back to the opera house, Christine's mind circled in endless questions and worries over the dangerous decision she had just decided to make. The thought that terrified her the most was that her phantom would not let her leave, even if she asked, now that she had willingly returned with him. But at the same time, she was not sure she would possess the will to ask to depart. Because she could not lie to herself, there was a relief in knowing she was being taken back into his realm of darkness and music.

She felt immensely unburdened to simply be leaning back into her angel's strong arms and letting him protect and hold her. They had rarely shared such an intimate pose and Christine could not help being affected by his nearness and the erratic beat of his heart against her. She only prayed he could not feel the leap of her own pulse. On that disconcerting thought, she straightened into a more proper posture. She seemed to already be accepting him! That was not at all what she sought. She dared not allow herself to give him such immediate forgiveness. She was not supposed to be forgiving him at all!

Christine chastised herself mentally. She shouldn't be so entirely affected by him. But as the evening faded to night as they rode, she found herself losing her strength to fight against him. And eventually she leaned back again into his firm chest and let her eyes close.

* * *

Erik felt it when Christine had fallen asleep and took it as a minor victory that she could trust him even that much. Then again, she could simply be exhausted. She had dealt with too many emotional trials for one evening. It was only logical that her mind sought refuge from reality.

He sighed at his cynical attitude. But his spirits lightened as he glanced down into her serene face.

When they arrived at the opera house, Erik picked Christine up into his arms and deftly threw one leg over the saddle and dismounted without jostling her overly much. She murmured sleepily, but her eyes stayed firmly closed. Using his own secret passages through the catacombs, he arrived shortly at his underground home.

Softly, he entered the house and carried his slumbering angel to a room he had long ago thought of as hers. Very carefully, he laid her on top of the four poster bed's soft mattress. Christine's eyes scrunched as she stretched out her long limbs, then fluttered open sleepily to look confusedly up at Erik.

He marveled over how she did not seem afraid that she had awoken to Erik at the side of her bed, nor that she was in his home.

"It is much too late for explanations and stories now. If you are willing, change and go back to sleep and we can discuss our…," he searched for an appropriate word. Differences? Disagreements? His murder? None seemed to be correct and some options would definitely scare her. "We can talk in the morning," he said instead. "Bedclothes are in your chest of drawers and suitable gowns for tomorrow are in your armoire." Reluctantly, he began to back out of her room. Her gaze was entrancing him. Her blue eyes were devoid of the coldness they had held earlier and had been replaced by a contentment he found puzzling and beautiful.

"Good night, Christine," he whispered in a husky tone.

Christine sat up lazily and smiled in a dream induced way. "Sweet dreams_, ange_."

Erik stiffened through every limb hearing the appellation sound so sweetly on her lips. He rushed out of her room and closed the door firmly behind him. She had only to smile and Erik could easily forget every hurt and unfairness she had ever caused him. He walked away resolutely, clenching his fists.

When finally alone in his own room, Erik removed his mask and readied for bed. But when he saw his reflection in the small mirror on his wall, he grimaced. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would remember his hideous distortions and recall how much she should hate him. Tomorrow she would condemn him for his sins. Tomorrow she would run.

Or maybe, a tiny, uncertain voice insisted in his head, tomorrow she would listen, she would learn, she would accept him or even understand him.

Tomorrow.

* * *

**Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Hope to hear from some of my loyal reviewers and perhaps even some new friends! Please, if you liked/loved this chapter review, Review, REVIEW! It's the best feeling in the world to receive reviews from readers.**

**Also, to the few that did answer my poll, unfortunately there weren't enough votes to make me decide one way or another. But my decision is to focus on this story as it seems to be progressing well so far. Thank you for taking the time to give me your opinions though.**

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	3. Influence of Sound

**So I have been spending a lot of time writing and because of that, I am releasing chapter 3 a little bit early for you guys. Hope you all enjoy it!**

**Acknowledgments:**

**Phanatic01- So glad you think them in character and thanks for being ok with my update schedule (I wish I could update more too, trust me!)**

**Nami Swannn- I think you're right about that, who wouldn't want Erik over Raoul? ;)**

**Sheepshanks- It always seems so weird that people wish to write like me, but thank you so much for saying so. And though it may seem as you said "effortless" I often write and rewrite scenes because of second guessing. My beta and you reviewers have helped a lot with that though**

**Icanhearthedrums- I know! Erik has it rough, poor guy.**

**CaptainHooksGirl- Wow! That is an interesting concept about the final lair scene (makes mental note to perhaps explore the idea). Also, glad you like my independent Christine. :) And thanks about Erik's musings, I dabble in poetry and Erik is such a musician, I guess his thoughts somehow came out in verse form (just realized that)**

**Scrubso- Glad you like it so far**

**FudgyMuffins- I enjoyed writing the scene with them on horseback so it's wonderful that you appreciated it. Also, glad you like all of their mental dialogue, I worry sometimes that I explore their minds a little too much**

**Loonynerdxd9- Awww thank you for saying you love it, and here it is!**

**Bella- In answer to your question, no she doesn't. Which is why she never refers or thinks of him with that title. Also, glad you like my direction so far :)**

**RosePC786- I adore knowing you have followed me since my earliest story and your compliments are so kind! Also, I'm happy I surprised a phantom lover with my plotline. And you don't know how much it means to me to hear you say how loyally you will follow this story. 3 Thank you!**

**Laurie- I love how well you described the reason for Erik's and Christine's behaviors and I'm so excited you think I'm doing well with the concept.**

**Guest- Here you go! :)**

**And as always thank you to Starcrier, my amazing beta who helps to enhance and enrich this story with her suggestions and editing. :) Thanks darling**

* * *

Erik lay awake that night, tossing and turning with dread twisting his thoughts. He rarely slept under normal circumstances, but having Christine only steps away had made rest an impossible feat. He wondered if she too was tormented by fear of their encounter tomorrow. He doubted it. More likely she was creating plans and excuses to leave him again. She had given him no reason to suspect otherwise. Christine had yet to gaze at him with anything other than wide-eyed fear and trepidation.

Except…except when she had awakened in his home. But her strange emotions had seemed blurred by the remnants of her sleep. He could not trust such feelings.

But how he wanted to.

"Curse it all," he muttered angrily, throwing the covers off. He grabbed his mask from the bedside table, donning it just in case. With Christine, he could never be too careful. He pulled on a dress shirt and trousers, knowing how unlikely it would be for him to return to bed.

Erik stalked down the hallway, his footsteps were nonexistent, no sound betrayed his presence. As he passed the door to Christine's room, he paused to assure himself that it was completely closed. Finding no tell-tale cracks, he continued to his original destination. The thick double doors stood open, as if inviting him into his sanctuary. Hurrying inside, he closed them tightly before walking to his grand piano.

Placing his fingers tenderly on the keys, he began to play. Softly, he attempted to restrain himself from truly venting his feelings upon the instrument. But he needed solace, be it partial or not. He required an outlet for the emotions and worries he harbored within his tormented brain. But as he grew more flustered, so did the tune, perfectly mirroring his fragmented mood. One moment it seemed full of triumph and joy, sparked from Christine's return. The next it would morph into sinister pitches, suspicion and fear translated into the language of music. Eventually Erik's resistance to the music eroded completely, and he lost himself inside of it.

As the song grew louder and louder, the sound of his thoughts faded away into nothing.

* * *

Christine had been lost in a dreamless sleep, but suddenly awoke with a start inside what she knew to be her room in the phantom's home. Her angel had shown it to her once long ago, when she had thought him _only_ an angel and nothing more. Perhaps it should unnerve her more that he had a room reserved for her use, but she could not find it in herself to feel uncomfortable. In truth, the chambers seemed more thoughtful than inappropriate.

Her brows drew down, wondering what had woken her. No one was near her and generally she had no trouble sleeping, even in her loud street-side apartment. But then she heard it.

Somehow her mind had recognized the miracle of his music even in sleep's protective realm. The tune was drifting to her fainter than a whisper. At first she wanted to resist, yet she knew this was no manipulative plan of the phantom's. She recalled the hazy memory of him assuring her they would speak upon the morrow. In spite of herself, she cracked her door to hear the song more clearly.

Even creeping out into the hallway, the entrancing tune was still muffled enough to frustrate Christine. His music was beautiful; it made her feel as nothing else upon the earth could. She could not content herself upon stifled pitches drifting through walls when she had been thirsting after his music for so long. Continuing down the dim passage, she found herself standing outside his music room. The very air seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his playing. Deep, mournful notes permeated the house with sorrow.

But still…it simply was not enough for her starved heart. She lifted a trembling hand to the door, gently turning the knob and praying silently that he would not hear her. Christine intuitively knew that he probably would not take well to her spying. In fact, the thought of being discovered terrified her. It reminded her that she was completely alone with him in his home, at his mercy until he allowed her to leave. Fear of his rage if he should discover her made her entire frame begin to shake and her hand dropped from the handle as if it had been burned.

Her mind had instantly filled with images of the masked man's mad tirade whenever she had removed his mask. His scars had pulled tense in his fury, turning his face into a monstrous expression that had threatened to destroy her. Those intense eyes had burned as though wishing to sear her soul with their flames. Christine still had nightmares of his horrible anger and now felt extremely foolish to have come so close to such peril again. Quietly, she turned to return to the safety of her room.

But then, almost as if sensing her departure, the music's tone shifted. It transformed fluidly from its forlorn lines to a mesmerizing, gentle melody that seemed to be beckoning her into its beauty. Christine felt a shudder run down her spine as the notes caressed her. She didn't even think as she walked back to the large double doors and stepped soundlessly into the sanctuary of his music. She moved forward as if entranced by the majesty his playing created.

Through hazy eyes Christine looked at the scene before her. Her angel, truly there was nothing more appropriate to call him when he was filling the room with such glorious sounds, seemed to be caressing the keys of his piano with his elegant hands. His shoulders were rising, falling, swaying left and right as though being carried by the very chords ringing in the air.

Christine desired nothing more than to be as much a part of his music as he appeared to be. She wanted to be lost inside its intoxicating pitches forever. It amazed her that he could be so inspired that he _moved_ with his compositions, became a part of them as he played.

She had crossed the expanse of his room and now stood close enough to hear his shaking breaths and see the soft smiles and vicious frowns war for possession over his expression. Compassion swelled in her chest. She could relate with fighting one's emotions. A strange need to comfort the man who had bruised her heart filled her. Christine felt a rush of fright as she fought an intense desire to_ touch_ him. Her hands had the bizarre urge to reach out and assure him he was not alone in his confusion. That he was not alone at all. Biting her lip, she clenched her traitorous hands and pulled them to her sides.

She had not followed his music only to become more perplexed than she had before. Trying to block her odd want to offer solace, Christine sank down beside the piano bench and pulled her knees up to her chest. She found it surprising that he still had not discovered her presence. But she was grateful for that mercy. Resting one cheek upon the top of her knees, she closed her eyes and let the music consume her.

* * *

Erik had no guess as to how long he had been locked inside of music's trance. What he did know was that he had been suddenly pushed out of its protection by what should have been an insignificant sound. A sigh. Anyone else might have ignored its regularity in the face of the more resplendent chords hanging in the air, but to Erik the sound of another breath, another person, was entirely foreign in his home.

He figured immediately the only person who could be responsible for his distraction, and the knowledge was disconcerting. Christine was in his music room and had been for who knows how long. Erik breathed deeply, still playing lest she realize his awareness of her presence. His mind replayed the melody of her sigh and the longing it reflected. He wondered what it was that she pined for.

But behind his analyzing her actions, he sorted through his own impulses. He felt terribly exposed and vulnerable knowing she had heard any portion of what he had been composing. Christine could speak the language of music almost as fluently as he could. That made him fear what she thought, or rightly guessed, he had been saying through the piece. It made anger rise, unbidden, at the thought of anyone, let alone Christine, knowing how weak she made him. Perhaps, especially her.

Without a pause in the music, Erik turned his head to see if she savored his powerless state. He could already imagine how easily she could manipulate this scene.

What he saw changed his perception and made him curse his own suspicion. How could he have condemned the innocent girl, clearly lost within his music? Her eyes were barely opened and her lips were titled into the smallest and softest of smiles. That smile threatened to crush him. Its gentle curves had been missing far too long from his world. Seeing it now made his heart harden again. He could not let himself be so controlled by her! If she decided to leave, it would kill him. No! He would not allow that.

He had to speculate if it was simply his creation that made her smile or if perhaps she had missed him as much as he had her. But that thought was still too raw, too dangerous to indulge. Yet, Erik could not suppress hoping.

"Christine," he called, his voice distant, but gentle.

Her reaction was immediate. She started out of her reverie and got anxiously to her feet. Despite the quiet tone of his voice, she tensed as though receiving a threat. Blue eyes locked with his fearfully and his eyes narrowed to notice her small frame tremble as she crossed arms across her chest defensively. Erik wanted to shout at the injustice of it all. He had not offered a single sign of harming Christine and yet she reacted as though abuse was to be expected.

"Am I really such a villain that I cannot even call your name without being condemned?" he questioned harshly.

"No! No, I'm so sorry. I did not mean to come in-," she stammered.

"You did not intend to be discovered is what you mean," he interrupted coldly. "You listen so raptly to my music yet the moment I speak you are frightened. I did nothing to incite fear yet you stand before me trembling as though sure I am to sin against you!" Christine only quaked more as his voice rose to a shout. "Have I really been so terrible to you that I am not allowed even to utter the syllables of your name without having some devious intent?"

"I'm sorry!" she tried again, more desperate as his temper flared menacingly. "Please." She tried backing away towards the door, but he wasn't about to let her escape so easily. His hands shot out and grabbed her arms, pulling her back into the room. She whimpered quietly.

For the second time that night, a frivolous sound changed Erik's demeanor. That tiny noise of muted terror jerked his mind back into sanity. Suddenly he realized how roughly his hands clasped the very bruises he had marked upon her wrists from their last meeting. Growling lowly, he dropped her hands in disgust, revolted by his own unplanned actions. "Pray stay a moment," he bid as calmly as he could manage before she bolted as her shifting eyes told him she longed to do. "And tell me," he continued, "what I have done to deserve your horrific reactions."

Hearing reason return to his voice made Christine bolder. "Can you blame me when this is how you react?" she accused holding up her purpled wrists as his answer.

He visibly flinched at the damage he had written upon her porcelain skin. "You came with me willingly enough with marks," Erik answered, still staring intently at the bruises. "Why did you come back if you truly expected more?" He hesitated a moment. "Surely…surely you realize I never meant to h-hurt you." Erik cursed himself for showing weakness in his quivering voice. Why couldn't he be as callous as she believed him to be?

Her wide blue eyes glared at him accusingly. He did not want to have to explain when explanations were due tomorrow. But Erik could see in that hurt gaze that she would continue believing him a liar if he did not elaborate, at least on this one point.

Silently, he held up his own long fingered, pale hands for her inspection. Christine watched him warily, wondering at his intent.

"These simple hands may not seem overly remarkable, and they are not. The only difference between my palms and yours is that mine-," he struggled to explain properly. "Mine are not accustomed to touching other humans as yours are. In fact, my accursed touch has corrupted no one, until you," he finished sadly. "And I see now that my touch is as much of an abomination as my pitiful face." He turned his hands apathetically, trying to detach himself from how suddenly he despised them. "There is no gentility or tenderness in my touch, for I have never experienced such things. Touching you is like attempting to dance without knowing the choreography, trying to sing without knowing the words. I fail because I have never received the proper instruction. Living alone has made what you consider mundane contact, extraordinarily foreign to me," he concluded clenching his chorded knuckles in restrained shame. Erik had never known such guilt as he had felt seeing the marks he had left so brutally upon her.

Erik had been too caught up in the perusal of his hands and failed to see the sadness fill Christine's eyes. "Do you mean to say, _no one_ has ever touched you?" she asked softly, her voice wavering.

"Depends on your definition of touch," he answered briskly, suppressing all the unpleasant emotions connected to the topic. "If violence and abuse do not qualify, then no, no one has." His tone was short. He should've never have broached this subject with her.

Christine wanted to cry, to close her eyes and weep. She had come in only wanting to hear the songs she had missed so dearly and now was receiving punishment for that whim. Instead of the brutality from him she had expected, she was being chastised by her own heart. This man, this angel and phantom, had never known the pleasures of simple touches.

He refused to look at her despite her attempt to meet his gaze and perhaps puzzle out why she felt such compassion and why he didn't seem to want any of it. "So you see," he said, strangely empty. "When I dare to feel your skin and place these wicked hands upon you, it is never with the intention of causing you harm. Restraining you, yes, protecting you, of course. But to abuse you?" he asked incredulously. "_Never_." The word was filled with a stark conviction, as though wishing his intent had not turned out so badly.

Christine inched toward him while his eyes were still averted; bravery alive so long as his intense glare did not fall upon her. When she was standing tentatively before him, Christine did not think. Her hand simply lifted to the unmasked side of his face as if it were a necessity and carefully caressed his exposed cheek.

Erik gasped and jerked away from her small hand as though she had singed his flesh with her gentility. His eyes flew to hers, flustered confusion plain upon his features. "C-Christine! Wha-what do you mean by that!?" he demanded, his words shaking as violently as he was. It was a though enduring her simple caress had been a difficult trial he had narrowly escaped.

"I wanted to touch you," Christine answered tremulously, hurt by his immediate rejection.

Erik pointed an accusing finger at her. "I do not desire your pity, Christine. If you think you are doing me a kindness by offering that abhorrent emotion, you are quite mistaken. How dare you touch me after blaming me for the same act?"

"No, I wanted to-,"

"Don't!" he commanded forcefully, backing away further as though afraid she would attempt to caress him again. Erik had never felt more terrified of her. Why would she willingly touch him? What kind of game was she attempting to play?

"Let me explain," she pleaded, wishing him to know she did not act out of pity.

"No," he responded shortly. Erik did not expound upon his resistance to listening to her explanations. How contemptible that he could not even bear to hear her reasons for what he thought to be a transgression. No one ever touched him with good intentions. _No one. _He did not dare to presume otherwise, not even with Christine.

"Go back to bed, Christine," he bid seriously. She had best not attempt to argue that request. Not now. He was through with stories tonight. He wasn't sure he could stand another moment with her as his cheek still blazed from her fingers.

She frowned in a stricken way then quickly left the room. Erik didn't relax until he heard the reassuring click of her door closing. Only then did he let himself fall back upon the piano bench and clutch the spot she had touched with his hand. Even though he questioned the impetus behind her bizarre action, he couldn't help but wish that she would touch him again. Her skin had been so smooth and warm against his. Had anything ever felt so exquisite? All he wanted was the chance to feel it once more, but he also feared that possibility. If a single moment of contact could affect him so much, others would surely only make his love for her grow even more. If she was to depart after she had her answers, the loss would be immeasurable.

Suddenly Erik had an idea. He needed time; time to make Christine see and understand. One night of questions may be a start, but he feared that if he let her leave, she would not return. But her curiosity could play into his favor if he could find a way to prolong her intrigue.

Erik began to think and plot, spending time on details and working through potential flaws. In the early hours of the next morning he felt secure in his new course and eventually drifted to sleep back in the safety of his room.

* * *

Christine lay awake in her bed, staring into the darkness of her room. The phantom had denounced her caress as a manipulation to hurt him. The accusation had stung her. If only he knew that she had not touched him out of mercy or pity. She had felt the coolness of his skin because she had desired to comfort him, to make him happy. Even now she questioned herself as to why she cared so much about him. He hadn't explained any of his actions and she was already trying to forgive him.

In the back of her mind, Christine secretly wanted tomorrow to wait. She wasn't yet ready to leave his world and be thrown back into harsh reality where music was meaningless and angels had to be perfect.

But she should not want to stay with him! She needed to be thinking of ways to escape his home sooner. If only she could find the desire to flee. As Christine drifted back into sleep's embrace, she thought only of his music and the chill of his unmasked cheek.

* * *

**Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know if you did (or if you have advice-critique) and review! I seriously adore reviews! They make my days and help me write :)**

**As always much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	4. Propositions, Admissions

**Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! To all my wonderful reviewers and those who have added this story to favorites, alerts, and me to the same. You all are amazing.**

**Arrianna Blood-I'm glad you like the central conflict. It may be a little simple, but I'm enjoying this angle. Also, much love for the anticipation. **

**Nami Swannn- I know! I can write Erik out to do truly terrible things, but no matter what, I still love and sympathize with him. I wish the world hadn't been so cruel, but then again, he might not have become an amazingly talented, genius. **

**Million-I think it is amazing you find Erik relatable. And on the "Singing without knowing the words" I meant that as a known song, a written one he should perform. He could not because he didn't know the lyrics. Does that make sense? **

**Lupa Eira- So excited that you like my story and the confusion/conflict it involves. Thanks, also, for liking the way I write out Erik's speech. I suppose it does sometimes appear lyrical. **

**Everyonedeserveslove- Thank you for saying so! Hope you like this chapter!**

**Amalia Santoro- I also was intrigued by the scene in the graveyard and I'm so glad you agree that more could've happened. Thank you as well for liking my take on it as well as my style. As for Erik's plans…hehehe it's a secret. ;)**

**PhantomAngel24601- Awww I'm so glad you love it! And maybe we'll have some E/C moments soon. Who knows? (Not me) :)**

**Max-rose-clary- Of course you are forgiven my dear, but I did miss you last chapter, so glad you're back. And goodness! And masterpiece? What a thoughtful thing to say about my writing. So happy you think this story has a special element. I truly hope it lives up to your expectations. **

**Sheepshanks- I agree, there is a lot of emotional turmoil in this story. More than even I anticipated. And yes, Erik is funny like that. (Trust me, Touch me…no! Not now, later, when I ask you.) Such a fickle man. I try to write Christine a little more independent, but you're right, she has to grow into strength and bravery. Erik could be the one to bring it out of her. (Also, love your signature my faithful reviewer) ;)**

**Bella- Thank you! I try to thoroughly make readers experience and feel with my characters. It's nice to know that Erik's emotions were well described. Hope you like this chapter. **

**Kyashii- First off, thanks for reviewing all 3 chapters even though you read them all in one day. Next, thanks so much for thinking I write Erik well. I love him so much, I really want him to be realistic. Also, much love for enjoying the internal conflict and development so far. In answer to your question, in the last chapter he said no one had touch him without violence or abuse. In her unintentional way, Christine had touched him when removing the mask, to abuse him. (Does that help?) Also thanks for calling me terrific and incredible, makes me smile every time I read it. **

**Phantom watcher- Thanks for liking this plot and my writing style. Hope this chapter lives up to the others.**

**Finally thank you Starcrier, my amazing, patient, and wonderful BETA. Who not only helps me edit, write, and break up chapter, but reviews just to make my day. P.S I really liked that line too my dear!**

**Enjoy everyone!**

* * *

Erik started his day only after only a few hours of sleep. He did not feel the effects of his brief rest, sleeping seemed so trivial when he had more important events to arrange. If his plan for Christine was to succeed, he had plans and orders to set into motion.

He only delayed his departure to make sure that during his absence, Christine would not only be comfortable, but safe as well. He needed to be certain she would stay put in his home. The many levels of catacombs held more traps and secrets than even her curious mind could imagine.

Right before he opened his front door to leave, he doubled back, unable to control his need. Very carefully, he opened the door to her room. If he did not glimpse her, Erik would know the previous day had been a dream. Surely it had been and he was madly trying to keep it alive.

His breath caught the moment he saw her slumbering form. Christine slept soundly, her expression softened by sleep. Erik's hand involuntarily shot up to his cheek. It had been real! He had never felt more relieved.

He dared not venture further in, temptation was too strong and he could only imagine how terrified she would be to wake up to him invading her room. So with one last longing glance, he closed the door and rushed to accomplish the tasks he had set.

* * *

Christine awoke the next morning, still unsure what she wanted from the day to come. Deciding to forestall the inevitable meeting a little longer, she took her time getting ready. True to his word, the phantom had filled her wardrobe with gowns. However, Christine hadn't been expecting the dresses to be so luxurious. They were not gaudy, but were clearly made from rich fabrics and intricate designs. She chose a deep blue gown accented in silver stitching and lace. She ran her fingers through her hair, combing out some of the tangles the night had put into her curls.

When she could avoid the moment no longer, Christine cautiously ventured into the hallway. Wandering from the hallway into the sitting room, then to the kitchen, she found his home quite silent…and empty.

She felt worried until she noticed the breakfast tray on the dining table with a letter placed beside it. The phantom's elegant scrawl spelled her name across the folded page. Christine gently unfolded the note and read it hastily.

_Christine, _

_I hope you will make yourself comfortable in my home should you awaken before my return. I assure you, I will be back before noon. There is no need to fear. I have some business to arrange that is quite vital in nature and unfortunately could not wait until our meeting. _

_I have prepared breakfast for you, but if it is not to your liking, take anything you would like from the kitchen. If I recall correctly, you have always been fond of pastries. _

_You may roam the house and its rooms as you like, but please stay out of my personal chambers and do not leave the house for any reason. I am not attempting to cage you, the catacombs are riddled with my personal security devices and navigating them is perilous if you do not know the way. (Which I assure you, you do not.) _

_I will see you soon._

The letter bore no signature and for some reason that bothered Christine immensely. In the days of his role as a teacher, he had always signed his letters as The Angel of Music. She knew that when he gave instructions as the phantom, he would leave the pseudonym of O.G. that stood for his persona of Opera Ghost.

But she had almost expected him to reveal his real name. He must know that she had connected angel and phantom as one in the same. He had made sure to thoroughly shatter all illusions with Buquet.

Yet, Christine wished she could call his actual name, if he had one. It would make him seem more mortal and tangible. Forever he had appeared so fantastic, no matter which alias he chose to present.

Huffing her disappointment, she distracted herself with the tantalizing smell of the strawberry pastry on the table. Christine could not help but smile realizing he recalled even her breakfast preferences. Coffee was warming on the stove and filling a cup; she sat down at the table and ate.

As she finished her coffee, she pondered what urgent business could have taken the phantom away so suddenly. Christine guessed it must be Opera Ghost plans. What other pursuits could he be dictating?

When she had put away all of the dishes, Christine walked through his home seeking something to occupy her time. Curiosity begged her to defy the phantom's wishes when she passed the door to his room, but she ignored the impulse. The thought of being discovered openly disobeying his instructions kept her from bending to her whim.

Before long she found herself back inside the music room. Christine stared at the piano with a sort of reverence. In the hands of her brilliant maestro, the instrument created miracles that she could barely think of as songs. Not when his compositions seemed so much more than any tune she had ever heard.

His presence felt so strong, Christine had the sudden desire to sing. It had always been her angel that had inspired her voice. Even though she knew him as an angel no more, his effect on her had not lessened. She sat down on the bench and played a few notes of a vocal exercise. Then with practiced technique, her soprano tone soared through the octaves, gathering strength and beauty the higher it flew. _"Sing for me, Christine," _his heavenly voice begged in her mind.

Her eyes cleared and her song cut off abruptly. "No!" she whispered angrily to herself, her small hands fisting in restraint. She should no longer want to please him. She needed to remember what he had done. He had murdered. He had lied to her. "And he left you," she murmured accusingly to herself, willing her mind to recall the hurt and terror.

"Not exactly," Erik replied roughly, striding into the room.

* * *

Erik had arrived back home to the welcome sound of Christine's voice. But when he looked at her seated at his piano, she had almost immediately ceased. It was as though he was being punished. If only she knew how thoroughly he had suffered in her absence.

But watching her, he had seen such anger in her expression; he wondered what could have possibly inspired the emotion. She had thought herself alone and her voice had been lovely, gaining back some of the conviction she had lost. Erik was baffled by the strange change in her demeanor. Until, of course, she had spoken. Her muffled tone had carried just enough to hit him with guilt. _"And he left you."_

Erik fought between guilt at how he had hurt her and a strange joy that she _cared_ that he had left. Christine couldn't realize that he had not left her alone for even a day during their separation.

She met his gaze almost sadly. Not giving her a moment to accuse or question, he said, "First, I would like to apologize for my…behavior last night. I will not explain my actions, but please understand that I did not mean to hurt you or upset you."

"And also, I know you came with me for answers, and I will give them. But," he paused a moment, "You must give me something in return. I have a proposition, which you may decline if you wish."

Christine nodded once, her eyes reflecting her suspicion at these words.

"All I want from you is time. I want you to regain back the brilliance you once possessed, both on and off the stage. So here is my proposal. Each day you are in my home, I will answer any question you wish to the best of my knowledge and ability. But, your curiosity will be limited. Today, you will have two questions. If, after getting those answers you desire to leave, I will not attempt to stop you. In fact, I will personally escort you safely back up to the world above." He explained the part about her departure half-heartedly. He feared that she would indeed leave that very night.

"However," he continued. "If you still have further inquiries to ask of me, you must stay here with me another day. Also, as your time here grows, so will your reward. Tomorrow your number of answers will increase, as they will the day after and so on."

"What about rehearsal?" she questioned urgently. Carlotta would love an excuse to suggest the managers get rid of Christine permanently.

"My managers will be receiving a note this morning from a prestigious vocal instructor explaining your short absence. They will believe that you have been taken up by a wealthy patron who wishes to see you excel in your musical endeavors and has therefore provided lessons at their own expense.

"They will also be getting a letter from the Opera Ghost praising their decision to give Mademoiselle Daae more instruction. A monetary supplement for time lost will also be presented to them with much gratitude. That ought to have them in high spirits. Heaven knows they never do anything that pleases me.

"So, as you can see, I have arranged for you to stay without guilt or worry for the world above."

"What about…?" Christine's question faded when she met his gaze.

He eyed her still unsure gaze jealously. The unwillingness to state her next objection revealed the subject without her saying a word. "The Vicomte also received the first letter and I will need one written in your own hand to confirm the story and stifle any suspicions he may voice."

Christine visibly relaxed at the news. "Of course I'll write one," she answered immediately.

Wanting to change the subject away from the boy, Erik stated, "There is a bag of your personal belongings in your bedroom. I paid a visit to your apartment and gathered everyday items I thought might make your stay more comfortable while you are here." He saw the reward for his whim in the small smile she gave.

"Thank you," she said. "That was very… thoughtful of you."

Erik waved a hand dismissively at the gratitude. "Do you accept my offer?" he questioned quickly, preparing for immediate rebuff.

Christine bit her lip, a habit Erik recognized that meant she had to give a matter thorough consideration. But she looked nervous, still slightly afraid.

"Please know I am being perfectly honest with you and I am trying to help us both," he pressed uncertainly.

Her blue eyes seemed to meet his with a sudden resolve. "I accept," she whispered softly.

Erik felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Such relief to know she would stay if even for only a day's time. "I assume you will want time to consider what you will ask. Take as many moments as you need," he bade as he turned to retreat from her presence. He had to leave to gather the remnants of his sanity and control. How easily she dismantled the walls around his heart. The moment she had agreed to his offer he had wanted to fall at her feet in reverent gratitude.

Yet he also felt helpless. If Christine asked her questions then demanded to leave, he had given his word not to detain her. And as easy as it would be for him to break his promise, caging her seemed monstrous even to him.

But that would fit his character wouldn't it? To be a true villain and kidnap the fair maiden even after gallant promises. No! Even if Christine did not believe him to have a heart, Erik did. And it would stop its beat if he ever made her curse and hate him. Though she was close to that already.

Erik sighed angrily and collapsed in his throne-like chair before the hearth. His pensive stare focused on the flames. But in every dancing flicker, he could only see Christine.

* * *

Christine wanted to follow him, but she realized how unwise it would be to seek him out. She needed to remain detached until she had answers. She smiled and shook her head ruefully, slightly frustrated but also impressed in spite of herself. The phantom always found a way to get the upper hand and he had done so once again with his proposition.

Yet, she felt somewhat relieved that he had given her an excuse to stay.

But no, she had to think of the questions that had been vexing her most, the answers she craved. Yet, if she did not ask the most pressing, Christine would have a valid reason to remain in his mysterious realm of music and darkness.

She felt the uncomfortable pang of guilt as she contemplated Raoul worrying over her absence and that she was spending her disappearance with the only other man who had ever competed for her heart. But then again Christine had been given an easy out in that simple letter she was to write.

Silencing her guilt, she sat at her desk to properly tell Raoul why she would be gone for several days. She knew him to be jealous for her attention and tried to leave out any unnecessary details about her vocal instructor. Christine immediately wondered if her angel intended to give her lessons while she was with him. It could very well just be a conjured detail for her alibi, but perhaps he also longed for the simplicity of sharing music together again.

Their lessons used to be the highlight of every week for Christine. To her, sessions with her teacher did much more for her than any of the ensemble and ballet rehearsals ever could. Truthfully, she missed those intimate moments entwined within pitches and chords, speaking to one another with no words save the lyrics and even then Christine could spin a different tale than simple words said. Her angel always said that if she truly felt through music, the words would not matter.

But, Christine feared the time when he would play again. A single melody had pulled her from sleep and made her want to touch and comfort and break every defense she had armored herself with. No, perhaps staying out of music's realm would keep her from becoming more confused and unsure of her feelings for him.

* * *

"May I come in?" the request startled Erik out of his pensive posture and his eyes immediately sought Christine's shape lingering in the doorway.

"Of course," he replied immediately. "Have you decided upon your questions?" he asked trying to mask the fear that threatened to make him tremble.

"I… I think so," she responded, her voice unsure. Christine had decided to compromise her wishes and ask one inquiry she believed vital and another she simply felt a burning desire to know.

"Well?" he pushed gently. In truth, this interrogation unnerved him more than he had anticipated. Christine could ask of him anything and he would be obligated to answer. And some questions were better left un-asked.

Christine looked down at her hands and walked over to the couch by the fire. She sat down and continued to keep her eyes averted as she questioned, "Why," she swallowed hard, this had to be done. Then boldly she demanded, "Why did you kill Joseph?" She knew that if she didn't ask this first, the questions and terror surrounding the murder would never cease to torment her. He claimed he could explain away his sin; Christine would like to see him try.

Erik's brow rose. She certainly wasn't wasting any time. He was certain now she regretted her choice to return with him. Obviously, she intended to hear his story and depart as hastily as she could.

Hiding the desolation he felt, Erik attempted to find an answer the she could possibly understand. After a moment he began, "Joseph Buquet had always been a vexation to tolerate in my theatre. With his constant lustful gazes in your direction and his drunken tales about me, he tempted me to arrange disasters for him almost daily. However, I resisted, believing his poor choices to be the result of sheer ignorance." He hesitated a moment, trying to glimpse the emotion she hid in her downturned face. When it became apparent she was not going to meet his gaze, Erik continued.

"What you and most people probably do not realize is that I was not seeking revenge or punishment for Buquet. In fact, that crime is almost completely unrelated to him except that he was the victim."

Apparently this admission was either intriguing or confusing because Christine suddenly looked up, her eyes full of curiosity and fear. "Then why-,"

"I shall tell you," he cut her off, but not unkindly. "You must be patient if you are to come even close to understanding." Her blue eyes narrowed as though she sensed the challenge in his words. His mouth twitched, wanting to smile that even now she felt the need to prove herself. Whether it was subconscious or not, he took that as an encouraging sign.

"What brought about his demise was a rapid chain of maddening and sometimes hurtful events that threatened, and narrowly succeeded, to destroy my sanity. The smallest transgression was enacted by the imbeciles Andre and Firmin. They are not as pliant to the Opera Ghost's wishes as I had expected. They do not realize the success of the Opera Populaire has been completely dictated by me for over a decade. Their poor decisions would've run this establishment into the ground if I had not chosen to intervene."

"Thankfully, my plan to get you onto the stage to perform worked and my managers realized what a blessing they had in my, or rather their, company. When the gala had been such a spectacular success, I expected them to happily allow you to be our new diva and get rid of Carlotta who has greatly overstayed her welcome."

"But obviously I expected too much from the idiots. What should have been an obvious choice was obliterated by La Carlotta and her so called 'reputation'. If only they would've seen how quickly you'd rise among today's prima donnas. But no," he said curtly, still irritated by their stupidity, "instead of heeding the Opera Ghost, they obeyed a whining actress and banished you to the ballet, chorus, and minor roles. Not to mention _silent_ parts. How that goaded me!"

Christine could not help feel a sudden pride that he had been so angered to see her pushed out of the leads and into the background.

"What hit me worst about their choice, however," he continued his voice suddenly subdued, almost shy in its softness, "was the effect the decision had on you. You had been so confident after your stage debut. Suddenly you carried yourself with the splendor and sureness that befits a diva. Yet, you never flaunted your success over the others who were jealous. No, you accepted your fortune with good grace. Never had I been so proud," he admitted. Realizing his words he continued, hoping to detach his words with his emotions.

"When they told you of your demotion back to where you had started, I watched. You did not let anyone else see, and it is likely no one else could have. But, you were stricken with thought of working so long and hard then having your reward taken away so swiftly. I saw you succumb to tears when you entered your dressing room for the final time." Christine's blue eyes met his gaze, hesitant and wary. He continued as though her suspicion did not surprise him. "To witness you hurt for a fate I had tried so adamantly to prevent shook me. Anger hit me then with an intensity I had never known. Your sorrow enraged me because I knew the events that caused it should have been stopped. I felt responsible for your loss."

Christine dared not interrupt. But all she could contemplate was how much this man seemed to care for her. Yet she wanted to blame him and curse him. Could he not see how broken she had been when he abandoned her? Did he not realize how much worse the pain had been compared to the night she had lost her spot as the diva? If so, why hadn't he attempted to comfort or help her then? Christine could not understand.

Erik wondered what the motives behind Christine's sudden reverie were, but didn't question. He needed to finish this answer before he made any inquiries of his own. "But, as I said, the managers decision was the very least of the catalysts that set my sin into motion. Your reaction was, to me, a separate cause all together. First was frustration at their uncooperative ideas, then fury at the injustice of how you were treated.

"But, I suppose the greatest motivation for my behavior was…," he trailed off and met her eyes uncertainly. Erik did not feel wise to be giving her this information. It tied the crime and his heart together. Christine should not be allowed to see how easily she had destroyed his control. She should not realize how her actions had unhinged his mind.

Christine was riveted by his searching stare. Yet, she waited impatiently, yearning to know the true cause of the death of Buquet. As he had told his first reasons, she dreaded that she already knew the answer. Now she wanted it confirmed and prayed his impetus somehow redeemed him.

"Please, tell me," she pleaded gently.

"You truly do not realize what you ask," he responded quietly, a strange sadness tingeing the tone of his voice. "I can only wonder if this cause will make you at least understand, or if it will make you completely despise me." He shook his head, as if regretting even saying that much on the subject.

"I-I will try to understand. Please, I need to know," she begged, unashamed when she felt this answer so imperative.

"You," came the tentative reply. "You were the true motive."

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Sorry, but the chapter grew to be monstrous and I had to cut it somewhere. What did you think of Erik's proposal? Smartie pants isn't he?**

**Also, please please please review! They are so wonderful :D**

**Much love,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	5. Astonished, Ashamed

**Sorry for the cliffhanger but here's the next half. Please review and here's acknowledgements for last chapter!**

**Lacy- Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it. And I try to update every two weeks. I know it's a little long, but I hope that's alright.**

**Phantom Watcher – (Ch. 2) Wow! To hear I changed your perception of the song is just incredible. Also thanks for calling it poetic. I don't always mean to make my writing that way, but I kind of enjoy the comparison. (Ch. 3)- I really liked writing the scene in his music room so I'm so happy you appreciated it. Also, thanks for liking Erik's inner turmoil and my description of movement. I feel like my writing can be too emotional at times, so it is wonderful to hear you like it (Ch. 4)- I'm happy you think Erik and Christine are both in character and the inner and dialogue monologues that explain their actions. Also, thank you very much for calling my story "terrific". **

**Save the Date- So glad you enjoyed the explanation of their music. I always feel like there is more than just the words we hear them sing, so it's nice to hear that you think my interpretations fit. Also, thanks for intending to give me plenty of reviews. Much love for that!**

**Jacklyn- Sincerely hope you have not moved on for I love hearing from new readers. Really hope I hear from you this chapter.**

**Venture Wood-angelofmusic75- I was wondering where you had been darling! I've missed your ever entertaining and wonderful reviews. So glad you're back and added me to your alerts so I'll hear from you again. Thanks for the appreciation for our dear Erik's deviousness, sneaky little devil he is. I liked your description of him as a weapon, never thought of that before, I really like the way it sounds. Hope you like this chapter!**

**Nami Swannn- Very good to know that my reasoning for Erik makes sense. My Christine is similar to my writing, a mixture of Leroux and Webber. She has blue eyes but long, curly, brown locks. Also, Christine was with Raoul before the murder, just not officially engaged yet. It is true they became more serious after the incident.**

**Max-rose-clary- Aww, your review was so sweet. Thank you for saying my writing is "amazing" because I genuinely care about these characters. I've never heard a review put my attitude towards my work into words so aptly. I truly do love and care for this cast of characters and I'm overjoyed to know that it is reflected in my work. Glad you think my Christine is improving and that Erik has always been in character. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Amalia Santoro- Hehehe I love your enthusiasm for Erik's plan. And sorry to torture you with a cliffhanger, but I have to every once in a while. Thanks for the love for Lost Love. It makes me smile to hear that it is your ultimate favorite.**

**Laurie- (Ch. 3)-The way you described chapter three was frankly lovely. I love how you recognize the traits of Erik and Christine that are pushing them apart. Also, glad my chapters leave you wanting more of the story. (Ch. 4)- Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!**

**Kyashii- Hehehe your reaction to the cliffhanger was priceless and funny. The way you described Erik and Christine's interaction was new, but very spot on. Also entertaining, just the way you put it. Very happy you enjoyed his proposal as well. He's such a smart butt. Also, thanks for calling this story "realistic" in its plot and events. And finally, calling me "inspirational" and "Talented", just….how sweet are you! Thanks!**

**CaptainHooksGirl- Yes! Our Erik is very sneaky, smart manipulator. Also, you're right, Christine didn't seem too upset…yet. Hehehe just kidding , maybe. Nice to know my explanation of Buquet was new. I like to keep things fresh and interesting. Hope you like this chapter!**

**Sheepshanks- About your guess of the next question…you'll have to read to see if you were right. Hehe sorry I can't spoil it. But I will say good guess! And thank you for thinking this new angle is "brilliant" and "genius" **

**Million- I could see Erik doing that as well, coming up with a masterpiece by sheer accident. Also, hehehe sorry for the cliffy. But I hope you enjoy the next half. **

**Phanatic01- I sincerely hope this wasn't too long. I'm trying to keep to my two weeks. Thanks for liking my writing style, it can get a little odd sometimes, but it's nice to know readers enjoy it. **

**Everyonedeserveslove- So excited you loved his proposal. I thought it rather fitting. And sorry about that cliffhanger! It needed to be done. Happy you enjoyed the last chapter though and I hope you like this one as well.**

**Starcrier- I admit it was rather fun and thank you for helping me split the chapter. It worked very well. Also thanks for being a wonderful BETA and friend. Much love darling!**

* * *

Erik clenched his hands and closed his eyes. He did not want to witness the revulsion and terror that surely crossed her expression. "I know that must be a horror for you to hear, that I had killed with your face in my mind and your name upon my lips. A monster they all deem me. Truly I must be one to kill to prove my-," his explanation stuttered. He had meant to say 'love', but that seemed to him a curse. Christine would not desire such an emotion from a demon. "My regard," he finished instead.

"I realize you never would have asked for such a display and likely despise that you were my reason. But, pray allow me to illuminate the circumstances. I had spent my entire existence waiting for you to appear in my life. I wasn't cognizant of that reality until you entered into it. You became the focus of my world. I believed once that you could be the person to breathe life not only into my music, but me as well. Until you appeared, I existed, but I wasn't alive. I had buried myself inside of music to escape the evil and condemnation of the world above."

"But then, you animated me. When I embodied only angel, you awakened feelings that had never stirred my heart before. Happiness, comfort, joy, solace. You may have revered me then as a heavenly teacher. But unbeknownst to you, I worshipped your every word and gesture. Salvation could have had no better representation than the innocent girl who seemed to be sent to redeem me."

"But fantasy became too much. I grew tired of hiding behind walls and mirrors. I wanted you to see me as I was. Foolishly, I hoped you could see past the mask to the sentiment I had always shown as an angel." He glared sharply at her, blame clear in his eyes. "I suppose you know what became of my ludicrous whim? The hope for understanding was destroyed by immediate rejection. To see you so afraid, why could you not have trusted me? Stealing my mask, you stripped away my dignity and any chance I had to explain with a single grasp of your tiny hand. I am surprised that alone did not send me over the edge of madness."

Christine could not say anything. Never before had she seen how selfish taking his mask had been; Or how greatly it had broken him. When she had stolen it, Christine had responded solely based on her own fear. Now she realized how deeply that must have hurt him. The entire world had shunned him for his scars and he had had faith that she would be different. But she had been equally heartless to him. She tried to suppress her feelings of sorrow and quietly pressed, "What did?"

She studied him curiously as he opened and closed his mouth several times, as though searching for words.

Finally he said, "Watching you leave, after years of devotion to me, and run to that Vicomte," he stopped as though such an admission was exhausting. "I hated seeing how uncertain you became in my presence, how suddenly mistrustful you were of me and my actions."

"I had to endure everyday seeing you talk to him, confide in him, smile at him,_ touch_ him. I had thought once that you would be loyal to me whenever everyone else gladly disowned me. But, you proved to be exactly like the rest of the world." Erik felt all the muscles in his body pull taut. He despised telling her this, but she had asked. And the darker side of him argued that it was time she lived up to her actions. "You were supposed to be different, and you weren't!" he declared furiously, reigning in his anger with difficulty.

"Even your betrayal I could have survived, because your reaction to my scars was too damned predictable for me to truly have been surprised," he said, his tone disgusted, remembering how foolish he had been to put so much trust into her. Erik should know by now that no one was to be trusted as far as his face was concerned. _No one _could overcome the trial of his deformity. Not even, much to his bitter disappointment, Christine.

"But the ravaging of my heart did not end there. I was helpless as the relationship I had spent my waking days trying to build with you eroded into hardly anything. You treated me no longer like an angel, not even like a man. You tolerated me for one rehearsal and I realized I had to disappear again. I could not even be with you physically. I hid again behind the mirror simply to stay in your life," he admitted ashamedly. "I felt pathetic and worthless. Too disgusting for you to even look upon me."

"Then…then you attended our lessons less and less, with always some convenient excuse upon your lips the next time you graced me with your presence. Eventually I decided to give you what you obviously were working up to, and I ceased to join you in your world anymore. I did not worry that I would be missed. Not when all of your time was spent with that unworthy excuse of a boy."

"My assumption was immediately confirmed as you clung to him like a life-line. But despite your new infatuation, your performance began to suffer. I seethed silently watching your singing and dancing fall from the beauty you once created. Emotion all but disappeared. So, despite being unwanted, I did what I could from the shadows. I ordered the managers to immediately replace Carlotta with you in our show. For the second time, they ignored me." His voice began to rise, giving evidence of his agitation and distaste.

"Powerless! I, the almighty Opera Ghost, had been rendered powerless, by my managers, by society, and above all, by you! I couldn't make them obey me without scaring you further. I couldn't join the world and attempt to win you back. And I could not do one thing about losing you! I couldn't apologize for the marks I had left on you because I would see the blame in your eyes. I couldn't try to explain my scars or my past without making you remember the horror you witnessed. The last thing I wanted to do was relive having you absolutely terrified of me." He looked away from her as though the memory alone was unbearable. His tone dropped lower, "And I ended up doing exactly that."

"That night, I sabotaged Carlotta, throwing her own vicious remarks at you back at her. But then I saw him. The Vicomte de Chagny sitting in my box 5. It seemed as though he had replaced me in everything. Not only in your life, but he usurped my place in the theatre as well. And I could not take it. He had everything I ever wanted and no one questioned him or ridiculed him. It was too much!"

Erik shook in remembered agony. "Christine," his voice was pleading, willing her not to hate him. "You were all I ever wanted and became everything I couldn't have. That truth was unbearable."

"When Buquet came after me, all I could see in my mind was flashing images of you and the Vicomte. I became lost in fury and despair. I wanted someone to feel the torment, to share the agony." Erik ceased to speak. There was truly no excuse for what he had done. He had believed he had left his devils in the past. He couldn't have been more wrong.

"Despite what you may think, I never meant to steal a life that night. Knowing how easy it is to murder fills me with revulsion for myself and reiterates the reasons I am in this eternal darkness. I am a killer, created by coercion and deceit, and I cannot escape my past, no matter how I have tried to smother it."

"But how I suffered for my sins!" he exclaimed despairingly. "In the aftermath of my heinous display, you ran, _ran from me,_ directly into the arms of the deplorable Vicomte. I had never felt such regret, such consuming horror as when I watched you leave me for the rooftops and your boy's embrace. Tears, touches, kisses! All were given willingly to him that night as you quaked in fear. I had to endure hearing you speak of me as if I were a hellish infliction upon your innocent life. You even went so far as to hint at the truth of who I am!"

"Hardly a face," he murmured, quoting the vicious words that still burned in his head. "I thank god that he believed then, and hopefully at present, that I am naught but a myth, a hideous nightmare. God, you must have thought of me as exactly that! A horrible nightmare." Erik finally glanced up and he felt overwhelming despair at the sight of the tears in Christine's eyes.

Christine wanted to disappear, to run. But not for the reasons the phantom might have assumed. She felt compassion and self-blame in equal parts. She had decided his motives the minute the crime had been committed. She never imagined he had killed out of anything other than simple evil and retaliation. This man had acted always trying to help her, even after she had hurt him. And she had done nothing but cast sins upon him.

He had heard! That night up above the opera, he had borne witness to every accusation, every curse she had spoken against him. Oh the terrible words she had uttered that night. What she had said of his face! How heartless, how cruel those hateful words seemed now!

"Please, please Christine don't cry!" he begged urgently, anger forgotten at the sight of the sparkling moisture in her eyes. "I never meant to frighten you, I only wanted to explain," he attempted to reason. Christine could have told him that no persuasion was necessary.

"I…I'm not afraid," she said tremulously, surprised to realize how true the statement was. In part. She did not fear this man as a murderer. She knew, without knowing how or why, that he would never willingly harm her. She had just heard that he could desire others' pain but could not find the terror she should feel.

A conviction filled her that took her breath in its harsh judgment. How hypocritical of her to have condemned the very man she had sinned against! She had deceived him, stolen from him, and judged him falsely.

"You should be," he insisted, his eyes wide with incredulity. "I destroy everything that is pure and lovely, you have proved to be no exception to that rule. What if-," his question broke off into a shudder that wracked his frame. "Oh god, Christine! I could not bear it!" he exclaimed passionately. Erik's heart gave a sickening stutter at the concept. What if one day he lost control and hurt Christine? Or worse?

No! No, Erik would never allow that to happen.

Christine watched him with sorrow filled eyes. Sense told her that it would be madness to ask what seemed to horrify him so greatly. Heeding her instincts, she did not question his outburst. Instead she softly inquired, "May I ask my next question?" Her head was too full of his story to discuss what she had heard.

Erik took in a shaky breath, this was the moment. Christine would question, be satisfied, and flee. Not trusting his own voice to answer, he nodded weakly.

Christine met his strange, piercing eyes, willing him to see the remorse and mercy in her own; wanting him to see that she did not hate him as he so feared. She glimpsed naught but uncertainty, and even of that she could not be certain. "What is your true name?" she asked quickly. Compared to the last subject, his name seemed a laughably mundane topic. Yet he had hidden this for a long time. She was afraid he would be offended or angry at her prying.

Her suspicions intensified as he seemed to be reading her every flicker of emotion, as though seeking some devious intent behind her seemingly innocent question.

"Why is that important to you? My name should be of no consequence when my deeds proclaim the titles that befit me best. Monster, demon, murderer, even their harsh letters would probably fall elegantly from your lips. Call me what you will, it makes no difference to me," he stated indifferently, trying to deny to himself how horrible it would be to hear the appellations he just suggested coming from her.

"Please," she entreated softly. "You want me to treat you as a man and not a villain, or so you said before. May I not address you with a man's name and not a curse?"

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then abruptly closed it again. There was logic in her plea. And he had the sudden desire to hear his name come from her beautiful voice. "My name," he said slowly, contemplating each word and questioning the sanity of answering, "is Erik." His green-blue eyes immediately sought hers. "Few people have ever utilized it of course," he continued hurriedly. Christine had a bewildering light in her eyes. Try as he might, Erik could not analyze the emotions that had caused it. Feigning nonchalance, he went on, "My parents could not even bear to utter its syllables knowing the horror it stood for. You needn't use it in regards to me. I would understand of course if you called me "Phantom" or "Ghost". I resemble them more than my own title." Still flustered by her odd reaction, he asked irritably, "Please say something, Christine."

"I like your name," she replied simply. "Erik," she tried it on her tongue.

Erik gasped softly, barely concealing a delicious shudder. Good heavens how amazing his name suddenly sounded! Never before had he considered it a wondrous title or anything worth saying. But from her lovely voice, his name was as entrancing as music.

"It sounds strong," she continued. Christine smiled timidly, hoping he would not regret revealing such intimate secrets to her.

Erik nodded absently, the brow she could see drawing down in apparent dislike.

"Have I displeased you?" Christine could not help her fear.

He glanced up as though breaking out of deep contemplation. "No! No, of course not. In fact you have exceeded my expectations with how you received my answers to your inquiries. I was just wondering if you would oblige me and answer one of my own." Erik's expression appeared nervous despite his avid stare.

"And what is that?"

He hesitated uncertainly, "Will…will you be staying another night? If not I can take you back immediately-,"

"No, I'll stay," she interrupted.

Erik was startled by her response. "Thank you," he whispered. Immediately, he recognized his lack of control and reigned in his tumultuous emotions again. But there were too many questions. The situation seemed too miraculous to believe. "Christine?"

"Yes," she breathed, blue eyes shining, almost making him lose his train of thought.

"Why are you not terrified? Do not misunderstand; I am grateful for that fact. But only a moment ago I confessed to murder because of you. You just agreed to stay with me and I cannot find even a trace of fear."

She looked up at him for a small moment, her brow pulling down as she considered his question. Then with uncertainty in her voice, she replied, "I'm not sure." Her eyes widened and she gasped as though realizing her words. Without a departing comment, she turned and left the room.

Erik stared after her retreating form, his head shaking in disbelief. When had his Christine become so brave?

* * *

**Hey everyone! I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry it was a bit short. (Cutting chapte****rs in half doesn't mean they're even unfortunately.)**

**Please review if you like/love this chapter or story! **

**Much love to you all!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	6. Muses, Bruises

**Just a warning, the next chapter may be a teensy bit late ( but I promise I shall try my best to avoid it). This coming week is my school's production of Footloose. As every day is either tech or a show day, I shall have very little time to write. I will try to catch up the following week, but I pray you wonderful readers will be patient and understanding if I am late by a couple of days. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Sheepshanks- I know right? Sometimes Erik seriously just breaks my heart**

**Everyonedeserveslove- Thank you so much! And here is that update, my dear. **

**Dana- I'm so happy you think his proposition an interesting idea. Also thanks for saying Christine uses her questions well. **

**CaptainHooksGirl- Amazingly well said about Christine "quiet sort of bravery" it is so true. Her daring acts are not overdramatized or overly violent, but gentle and fierce. I'm glad you think I portrayed it well.**

**Phanatic01- Christine is sometimes complicated to write, but thank you for saying I did so in a realistic way. I like to give her a little backbone sometimes. And yes, hopefully Christine will have gained a little insight. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Max-rose-clary- I love the way you said you could see Erik's soul through his rant. Any dialogue I write generally has a purpose and Erik's longer speeches tend to reveal so much. Thank you for appreciating the glimpse into his heart, even the darker shades of it. I'm glad Christine's bravery was surprising because she honestly shocked me a bit when I thought of this scene. Hehe silly I know! Thank you for being and I quote my "loyal and obedient reader"!**

**Nami Swannn- It is hard to validate or explain murder but it's nice to know you thought my (Erik's) explanations were valid. And yes! It is terribly heart wrenching to think about all that Erik lost when Christine left him. (Dang it Andrew Lloyd Webber/ Leroux, why can't our beloved Erik get a happy ending!) But I must say, I love it when people have an emotional response to my stories.**

**HopeIsHere16- Aww yay! So excited that you loved it. And wow, hearing that you felt better about his murder is really quite wonderful. Truly it is hard to make murder acceptable or understandable. Also, I wasn't very fond of Buquet either, so no judgments here. Christine does have a ways to go with understanding Erik and his love, let's hope it turns out well. (crosses fingers)**

**Megumisakura- Thank you so much!**

**Million- Sorry about that and thanks for the advice. I always hear Erik's explanations as really drawn out and detailed in his pursuit for Christine to understand. But I suppose I should have put in a bit more of her response. Truly though, thanks for pointing it out.**

**Save the Date- Don't worry about the late review, I am just overjoyed to have gotten it! I really liked your description of how Christine using Erik's name "humanized" him. Really that was one of the main reasons I added that part. Too many times he is thought of only as the Opera Ghost or Phantom and that does make him seem more monstrous so I'm really glad you picked that little part out. I'm also so pleased that you think my work a "refreshing read" from all the thoughts and actions I write out. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Phantom Watcher- Wow, calling this story "the sequel" (if you meant it as I am interpreting it) is truly an honor. I love hearing that you believe my characters actions and rationale are realistic or as you said "convincing". Thank you so much!**

**Starcrier- Sorry for abandoning you for a while but thank you, dearest, for being so patient and helpful with me. Hehe and no worries, I never get tired of hearing that you think I do dialogue well (as it is one of the aspects I try to get very accurate and in character). Much love to you darling and thank you for all of your wonderful advice and critique.**

**Enjoy!**

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_You were all I ever wanted and became everything I couldn't have._ The words haunted Christine as she sat upon her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She had never heard Erik sound so impassioned, so distraught with hopelessness as when he admitted his need for her.

But with that one sentence, he had made her feel emotions she had never experienced with such consuming intensity. His longing had made her feel a sudden strange and fervent wish to be his as she never had before. He had made her sound as though his very existence was inextricably tied to hers. The assured way he described their bond had somehow enabled her to miss what they had never shared.

How that frightened her!

Christine had just discovered the truth of Joseph Buquet's murder. Before hearing Erik's side, she had believed the truth of the crime would have served to condemn him more. She had believed that his evidence would have eased her conscience of blame for leaving him and condoned her fear and neglect towards him. She had believed his story would give her the reasons she needed to let go of him and leave him forever as a villain she had the misfortune to care for.

She had believed wrong.

Erik's tale had only made the guards she had built around her heart fracture and crumble away with every letter he spoke. With every explanation, every word of hurt and anguish, Erik made her mourn his loss and wish to correct the past.

But how could she want to comfort him, to stay with him, when the confessions of his mouth had written him a monster? How often he had said the title and with each utterance of the abhorrent word he seemed to believe it to be truer of himself.

Yet despite hearing that she was the impetus behind tragedy, Christine found herself being compelled instead of repulsed. Should she not be terrified that the man in the next room had been inspired to a heartbroken passion that prompted him to murder?

She should, but instead she found herself seeking to forgive him. Because in every other statement he had cursed and berated himself, saying there should be no forgiveness or understanding for what he had done. Strangely, that was exactly the reason Christine felt he should be absolved of his sins. He appeared penitent of his actions.

Logic argued that he had crossed the fickle border of sanity once. Another hurt, another wound to his heart could issue the same response from him. Staying with him should have seemed perilous in the extreme; he had declared adamantly that _she _had been the inspiration of his madness. Wasn't it unwise to be so close to him when she was the catalyst in his crisis before?

Christine had been through each reason she should be afraid, but still could not bring herself to _feel _frightened.

What she did feel was shame; shame for having punished him so thoroughly for a crime he had not meant to commit. Every time she thought of the words she had used to describe Erik's face to Raoul, all she could imagine was the agony that must have inflicted upon Erik. He had followed her to the rooftops because he felt concern and chagrin for causing her such terror. But she had only ripped his heart ever further into pieces. Poor Erik!

Erik. The syllables of his name sounded so strong, immovable and powerful. Christine mouthed it silently, enjoying the feel of it upon her tongue. She felt knowing such an intimate secret a privilege, one she was unworthy to possess. She had honestly thought he would not tell her his name. Why should he trust her with such hidden details when she had betrayed his other confidences to Raoul?

That cursed guilt again crushed her spirit with its accusing weight. How could she, even in fear, have told anyone of Erik and his world? He had taken such great lengths to protect himself and she could have destroyed it all. She agreed with Erik, it was fortunate that Raoul remained ever stubborn about the existence of the Opera Ghost.

Though she felt ashamed and guilty, Christine was not sure if she should repent, or even if he would believe her should she attempt to make amends for her actions.

And…and there was still that nagging hurt, that jagged knife stabbing repeatedly into her chest. Erik had left her, yet after his confession it seemed that he had disappeared _for her._ Looking back, it truly did seem as though she had not wanted him to stay. She had avoided their lessons, but obviously with less subtlety than she intended. But it had not been simply to ignore him, not even to hurt him. She had fled from his ever beguiling presence to protect her heart from further damage.

Yet, if she was truthful, Erik had frightened her, truly scared her that night. Never before had she imagined being terrified of one she considered an angel. But hearing his heavenly tone turn threatening and seeing the man he had hung had shaken her more than she would have thought possible. She had known at that point that Erik was the Opera Ghost. Yet she had hoped that he would not prove to be the villain they all claimed. Seeing the blatant proof of his horrific reputation had driven her to despair.

Christine had been wrestling with her heart until that night, trying to convince herself that her angel couldn't be as evil as they claimed. Fate seemed to taunt her when he murdered before her eyes.

Now…now she realized that nothing was ever so simple as evil or good. Erik had sinned grievously. Yet should he be condemned when he felt such remorse?

* * *

Erik sat at his piano bench, unable to play for his preoccupation with Christine, her reactions, her words, simply her. Knowing she was breathing, sitting in another room, sharing the air of his home seemed miraculous.

She had rendered him speechless, stunned by her sudden boldness. _I'm not afraid._

Would that simple phrase ever cease to astound him? Not afraid. Not afraid? How could she not be terrified after hearing the tale behind his murder? He was a killer who took a life in her name.

Even beyond that was the memory of her being completely horrified before. She may not see the atrocity of his murder, but did that dim the memory, the reality of his face? If he had removed his mask the very second she uttered such taunting words, would she have trembled in fear?

Erik massaged his exposed temple with his fingers. During his confession, he had searched and searched, checking for every physical reaction that would reveal her fears. He wanted desperately to call her statement a lie. Not because he wished her to be afraid, God knew that that was the last thing he desired, but because her lack of expected response was baffling. Erik felt off balance, exposed. Fear, terror, hatred, he was experienced in dealing with such responses. But Christine's emotions that night had not reflected any of the usual reactions. In fact, she had shown genuine…delight perhaps was an appropriate word, when he had revealed his name.

Even now he felt a slight anxiety knowing she possessed such personal knowledge. She could put a true title to his face should anyone ask her.

Yet Erik believed that she would not betray him in that. He almost laughed at his own hopefulness. If he had a shred of wisdom, he would have guarded the secret of his name until death. Protecting his identity should have been unarguable; so many disasters could occur should his past and present become connected. But, he had never been talented at denying Christine anything she wished. The infuriating game he had initiated was becoming increasingly threatening to him.

Curiosity had always been Christine's greatest weakness. She now had to power to use it for whatever purposes she wished. She could demand of him anything and he would have to truly fight himself to deny her wishes if they did not coincide with his own. The information he had already divulged troubled him slightly, but he had much darker, more unspeakable crimes hidden away in the deepest, most suppressed caverns of his mind. Some memories _he_ could hardly bear to recall. He prayed Christine never experienced such horrors. He didn't want to inflict such nightmares upon her, but greater than that was the horrid possibility that she would discover how heinous he had been. Imagining her reaction should the truth of his life ever be revealed was enough to make him shudder with dread. She may have accepted his murder astoundingly well, but some sins cannot be explained or reasoned. A multitude of such transgressions decorated the pages of his life and he loathed to show her any.

He consoled himself that Christine had no impetus to wonder at the scenes of his past. Even in their days of mutual friendship, she had asked very little of his life. Perhaps she had never thought an angel to have a life other than heavenly grandeur or perhaps it was evident once he had revealed himself as the Phantom that his demons were better left undisturbed. Either way, Christine had been strangely uninterested in his days before she entered his life.

Erik hoped that never changed.

* * *

Christine strode down the hall, holding the paper tightly in her hands. Approaching the oddly inviting open doors of his music room, she took a fortifying breath to steady her nerves. They had seemed to silently and mutually agree to avoid each other after her first round of questions. For her it had been simply that she needed time alone to sort out her thoughts. But after several hours of solitude in her room, she could not stand another minute alone. How on earth Erik endured such torment for the greater part of his days, she would never understand. Ashamedly, she found an excuse to reinter his presence, too nervous to admit she only sought company, afraid of how such an admission would be received by him.

Softly, she stepped into the room whose atmosphere seemed utterly different now that music ceased to fill its space. Her eyes flitted to Erik's shape at the piano bench, finding it odd that he sat at an instrument without playing. His normally formidable stance was broken. He rested his masked face in his palms, elbows propped up against the piano. Her presence felt suddenly intrusive, as though seeing him in any state other than invincible was a wrong against him. Gently she murmured, "Erik?"

His bent form immediately jerked erect, shoulders straightening and head lifting until he personified the Opera Ghost once more. Yet the moment the ghost made his reappearance, Christine missed the man.

Turning swiftly about, he appraised her with those strange piercing eyes, questioning her presence without uttering a word. "I-you asked me to write a letter, I've finished," she informed him, attempting to suppress the tremor his eyes had evoked.

"Oh," his blinked quickly and his demeanor changed. "Thank you." He cleared his throat roughly. Christine found the action odd when his voice was already perfection. "Doubtless the Vicomte will appreciate this." Silently he took the folded letter from her hands, slipping it into his jacket pocket, but when he grabbed it, his fingers slid gently over hers. Their coolness raised gooseflesh up her arms. Whether the caress was intended or not, Christine's hands betrayed her as they began to shake. Quickly, she fisted them at her sides.

Then she heard him gasp.

One of Erik's large hands shot out then lifted her wrist with more gentility than she expected. He muttered something harshly beneath his breath, lifting her hand up for his inspection. Christine bit her lip, realizing what he must see upon her skin. The bruises he had left the night before had darkened their color overnight, leaving her skin looking more damaged than before. She didn't want to explain this oddity to him, not yet. She tried vainly to pull her hand from his grasp, but to no avail. Though his grip never hurt, it tightened slightly, silently saying he would not relent so easily.

"Odd," he whispered, "I've never seen a mark worsen over time. I didn't realize I had held you so harshly." His eyes were saddened.

"It isn't your fault, Erik," Christine met his confused gaze warily.

"Of course it is. I'm the one who left these," he said harshly, rubbing his thumb lightly over one print. "Surely you cannot have forgotten so quickly?" he questioned sharply. But Christine knew his anger was towards himself, and she felt her guilt intensify at the thought.

"Really, Erik, it's nothing. An accident, you did not mean to leave them."

"So not intending to leave damage justifies abuse? You're a poor liar, Christine," he said lowly, suddenly meeting her eyes. "What are you hiding? I hear deception but I cannot find the cause. I assume it stems from your despising me more for these bruises than you let on."

"Erik, I'm not lying to you. Please, please just let me go," she begged, trying to keep weakness from invading her voice.

"If you are not lying, pray explain the guilt and deception written across your face," he demanded. She could hear him as he struggled to control the anger that came so naturally as a response to lies.

"I can't," she cried brokenly, tearing her wrists from his grasp despite the ache. He stared at her incredulously, backing away from her. "Not now." She saw hurt in his eyes from her action, but she was too afraid to say anything more. Explanations were dangerous at the present moment.

The tears welling in her blue eyes shimmered, threatening to overflow. Her small frame began to shake pitifully. Nothing could have defused Erik's volatile temper more quickly.

He did not pretend to understand why she reacted so desperately when he examined the damage _he_ had left upon her skin. Her evasiveness seemed illogical. She had not been the one to cause it, he had. Christine had entered his music room with nervousness lingering, yet she had seemed content. Now he searched her expression and found shame and sorrow he could not explain. Unable to help himself, he shushed her softly.

"Calm down, Christine," he cooed gently. "I'm sorry, it's alright. We shan't discuss it anymore tonight." Reluctant to give physical comfort when she had rejected his touch only a moment before, he hummed a soothing melody, letting his voice wrap her in the solace he could not physically give.

Slowly she began to relax, the shaking subsided and her eyes lost some of their redness. "I'm sorry, Erik," she whispered. As though sensing the hurt her recoil had inflicted, she tentatively reached out to grasp his hand.

Erik marveled at the heat of her skin against his. Though the pressure against his hand was soft, he felt as though she burned him with her willing touch. Ever wary, he carefully entwined his fingers with hers, astonished when she did not pull away. Until then he had initiated every shared touch, save the one she had given to his cheek. He still questioned whether or not that caress had been a manipulation.

But now, her heart was upon her face, begging forgiveness for drawing away. He freely gave it if holding her tiny hand would be his reward. But looking up, he glimpsed lingering hysteria threatening to resurface in her eyes and immediately he sought a course to remedy her unease. "Come," he bid simply. He led her into the sitting room and left her sitting upon the loveseat with a small glass of red wine to calm her nerves. "Stay here, my dear," he commanded gently, feeling conflicted about leaving her alone when her emotions were so unstable.

He returned moments later bearing a tray with hot broth and warm buttered rolls. Christine greeted his work with a tiny smile, with only the slightest tremble of her lips to tell that she had ever been upset. He took in the empty glass knowingly; the wine had done its work. He set the tray on the side table and let her eat in peace. She attacked the rolls ravenously and he mused laughingly, "I have forgotten that you eat more often than I am accustomed. My apologies, I fear that we skipped a proper lunch this afternoon."

She shook her head in an amused way, not speaking lest she appear unladylike. When she finally swallowed she answered, "Its fine, Erik. This is wonderful."

After she had finished her supper, Erik took away the dishes. When he returned, he smiled. Christine lay curled up upon the loveseat, her legs pulled up so her lean frame could fit. Her eyes were closed and she slept sweetly, the smallest grin curving her pink lips. Deftly, Erik scooped her into his arms and took her into her room. He placed her in the bed, drawing the covers over her. He had missed this Christine, the one who trusted him innocently and did not question. There was no fear, no suspicion lingering in this Christine's relaxed features.

He could not help but wonder what frightened her so much about her wrists. But he felt an abominable remorse for having hurt her with his prying. He needed to know what secret she hid so adamantly, for obviously it concerned him in some manner.

Sighing defeat for the moment, he decided that particular mystery could wait, at least for the night.

Before he departed, he brushed the pads of his fingers delicately over the purple marks. Then, upon a sudden whim, he lifted one to his lips, leaving a reverent kiss against the evidence of his sin.

As he turned, he missed the tiny flutter of his sleeping Christine's eyes.

* * *

**Alright! So what did you think? Good? Bad? Confusing? Mysterious maybe?**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter and if you did (or even if you didn't) please leave a review! I adore them so much. They all make me smile because they show me that my readers care. **

**Thank you all so much and much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	7. Unexpected

**Right to acknowledgments (because I received a bunch of reviews, thanks you guys!)**

**Sheepshanks- I'm glad it leaves you wanting another chapter and I hope you like this one!**

**CaptainHooksGirl- Mysterious is fun to me so it's good the last chapter gave off that kind of mood. I really enjoy writing Erik's many sides and his tender one is one that is hard since he must be sweet but still detached. I'm happy you liked the way I presented it. Also, I thought that particular quote showed his duplicity well, so thanks for thinking it "perfect" **

**Nami Swannn- Thanks for showing love for the moment when he kissed her bruise. Nice to know the little romantic moments are appreciated.**

**RosePC786- No worries, though I would love to hear from you more, I am still grateful for any and all reviews you give me and it is truly wonderful to know that you will follow the story. Even if you do repeat yourself, it's wonderful to hear how much people enjoy my story, so many thanks!**

**UltimateKawaiiGirl- (Ch 1)- Calling me your fav fanfiction author, well I am simply honored. Thank you! (Ch 2)- Glad you think the cast in character. I really strive for that. (Ch 3)- That line truly speaks volumes of Erik's past. Wonderful to know that it inspires emotional response, really that's the best kind of reaction to my stories. Never be afraid to point out mistakes, though I may not fix them immediately, I like to know when I have messed up, so thank you. (Ch 4) It's alright about being repetitive, really I'm just happy that you are taking the time to review every chapter. (Ch 5) Awww, darling that's so sweet of you to say. And I'm both sad and happy you cried (weird to say but hopefully it makes since) (Ch 6)- Your wait has ended for here is an update and I hope you enjoy my other works as well. Thanks for all the praise and again for finding my mistakes.**

**Million- Thank you for calling it touching. **

**Laurie- (Ch 5) your summation of chapter 5 was very deep and I like how complex and yet concise your ideas were. I love how you can see all the details that were revealed about Erik in that chapter. Also, hehe glad you loved it. (Ch 6)- I'll admit to trying to make it a bit mysterious so I'm excited that you find it intriguing. And thanks for wishing me luck, Footloose went very well!**

**Save the Date- Can I first take but a moment to tell you how beautiful the words "take your time" are to me? Truly they mean so much as I try to work to post on time, but when I am late such patience is a wonderful thing. So happy you are enjoying Erik and Christine's "baby steps" to understanding one another. Also, I too wish they could have been together and I'm overjoyed to know that you like my depictions of alternate endings. **

**Venture Wood-angelofmusic75- Vey glad you're enjoying the development between Erik and Christine. Also no worries on the short review and thanks for wishing me well on my show. It went very well, thank you. Nice to know you're still reading**

**Everyonedeserveslove- Aww thank you and here's an update. Hope you like it!**

**Vampgirliegirl- No worries, I do not intend to give up on this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!**

**AnskuuBanskuu- Thank you for saying you "love it" and that I'm an "amazing" writer. Truly that is wonderful to hear!**

**Amalia Santoro- I like writing that side of Erik so I'm happy you like to read it. Hope you enjoy the questions this chapter (devious smile)**

**Phantom Watcher- So glad you want more and hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Disappointed- I'm sorry you feel that way about this story.**

* * *

_Dear Raoul,_

_I pray you will forgive me for not saying goodbye before my abrupt departure from the opera house. I was recently presented with a rare and wonderful opportunity. The managers have decided to further my musical education by allowing me to study with a renowned private tutor. I would reveal his name and my whereabouts but the entire situation is quite secretive, for my instructor is famous for his musical exploits and does not wished to be bothered during our lessons. I do not even have the slightest idea where we are but I assure you that I am being treated well and I am learning new techniques from my studies._

_I am afraid I will not be receiving any letters from you as this note will be presented to the managers to forward to your estate or deliver to you if you should visit the opera before then. Very rarely will I be permitted to send any correspondence in the future. My teacher is adamant that I detach myself from the world and focus only on my musical training. _

_I am not certain when I will be returning, as I am to leave only when my tutor decides I am ready. I trust his judgment, truly I have never met another musician to equal him. Though some of his methods are terribly eccentric and odd, they appear to yield the most astonishing, and pleasing, results. _

_I know you will be supportive of my endeavors as you are ever patient with my desire to perform. It brings me such joy to realize that you are proud of my music instead of ashamed as weaker men would be. _

_I hope you are well and happy in my absence. I pray for you daily, that God would watch over you and answer your prayers. Please pray for me as well, for though I am gaining a great deal of advanced instruction, the lessons are not always simply or easily learned. _

_Yours,_

_Christine Daae_

Raoul stared at the letter intently. Something in her message sounded…odd, out of character somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it. She sounded just as happy and attentive as her usual self, yet an aspect of her words continued to irritate him. Perhaps it was the coldness of her signature. Well, cold might have been an exaggerated tone, subdued would fit better. Her letters to him were generally signed _with love_ or_ yours always._ _Yours_. That was all she left him in parting, no word of love or loyalty. But maybe he was blowing it wildly out of proportion. Her sudden disappearance had left him on edge and horribly worried. The missive relieved him in that he knew Christine was in no danger, but it also made suspicion rise.

The situation she described appeared so mysterious. Raoul did not like mysterious, riddles and secrets appealed very little to his straightforward personality. He enjoyed the comfort and assurance that came with facts and truth. Christine had taken care to steer her message around her instructor without saying overly much about him.

Him.

That pronoun alone rankled Raoul's nerves. Her teacher was obviously a man, and seemed to be an awfully possessive one at that. Refusing Christine her freedom to send correspondence was outrageous. He would have said so to Christine, but thanks to her irritating mentor, he could not even contact her.

He swept a hand through his blonde locks. Music, she had always been so obsessed with her artistic pursuits. If he was perfectly honest, sometimes her passion was irritating in that it took her away from him so often. He believed she suspected as much with the weighty hints so carefully woven into her letter. Her mention of "weaker men" not understanding almost appeared to be an indirect shot at him should he not agree with her whim to receive more musical education. Though it was clever of her to give him no way to voice an objection when she returned, it also maddened him slightly that she seemed so completely enamored with her music.

Raoul had never truly understood the appeal that opera held for her, though he did enjoy watching her perform. He had rarely liked to visit the theatre as a patron until she had begun to sing.

Yet, having an actress as his love interest was not an easy burden to bear. He hadn't revealed that she was an opera singer to his family. The aristocracy he had been born into had very little tolerance for outsiders, much less a woman who held such a profession as Christine.

A cleared throat regained Raoul's attention. "Monsieur Vicomte, is there anything else we can do for you?" The manager Andre looked eager to please, but nervous as well. He must have noticed Raoul's scowl.

"Did you see the messenger who dropped off this letter?" the Vicomte de Chagny asked briskly. "I should very much like to speak with him."

"Forgive us," Firmin answered haltingly, "but the letter was placed in our box before we arrived. We have no idea who could have left it."

_Why am I not surprised? _Raoul chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "And what does your ghost think about your best soprano being shipped off?" he asked sarcastically. Their belief in all the Opera Ghost nonsense never ceased to amuse him.

They shared an anxious look.

"He is…quite pleased actually. I had never been so shocked as when we received, well, praise from him for our decision," Andre said shakily.

"It was your decision to send her to the teacher, was it not? Then surely you must know him."

"I am afraid not. We're actually not entirely sure _how _Mademoiselle Daae received this so called "prestigious" invitation or who her wealthy sponsor is. We assumed it was you, but obviously it is not. I'll admit the circumstances are all quite strange," Firmin looked quite annoyed with the mystery as he spoke. "We were to begin production of a new show this week and all of our plans have been rearranged to suit her absence. We had decided to appease the Ghost and give her a lead while Carlotta is visiting Italy. But right as we selected an appropriate show, the girl disappeared. If you will forgive me for saying so, it is quite maddening."

"No forgiveness is necessary. My plans have been a bit upset since her departure as well." _Plans that included proposing to Christine. _"My thanks, messieurs," he bid as he left the opera house.

Something about Christine's private lessons wasn't right. Raoul frowned thinking of how pleased their ghost seemed to be.

Not right at all.

* * *

Christine awoke lazily, confused by the lack of light. Erik's underground home had its disadvantages. Thinking of him made her recall the startling moment that had occurred the night before. When Erik had been carrying her to bed, she had come awake. But she felt so comfortable and safe she had pretended otherwise, savoring the tenderness of his embrace. But as he had turned to go, he had left a searing kiss upon her wrist that had shook her. It had been so sweet, but penitent as well. He still felt guilty for the worsening of her bruises. But it wasn't his fault.

With that thought she rose and readied for the day, slipping a simple gown of pale purple with long belled sleeves over her head and tying the laces as best she could on her own. She ran her fingers through her brown curls with water from the wash basin to smooth them back into shape.

Christine crept down the hall to the kitchen, expecting him to be preparing breakfast. But the kitchen was empty. Her brow furrowed and she went to the sitting room, then his music room. Both were empty. The library, dining room, bathroom, none yielded his presence. Finally she stood outside his bedroom, shaking slightly but controlling her fear. She pushed open the door, afraid of immediate chastisement. His bed was made and held no trace that he had been there the night before.

There wasn't a note left behind, no sign that he had cared to worry her. _No, Christine, he'll be back,_ her mind argued. _Then why is there no letter! _

Her breaths began to hitch as she grew more hysterical and she leaned against his doorframe, sliding down until she was crouched against the wall. No she couldn't do this. Everything was fine.

She had _not_ wandered down to his home on her own.

She had _not_ imagined that he had returned.

She had _not_ been spending days in the cellars of the opera house alone.

Proof! There was evidence that he had been there. She jerked up the sleeves of her gown, pressing her thumbs harshly into the prints he had made. They were there! The pain told her it had happened. One could not imagine pain could they? Bruises were reminders, mementos. So long as their tell-tale colors were present, she had not imagined Erik. Her grip became firmer, digging her fingers into the marks. She gasped sharply at the ache, but welcomed it if it meant she had not conjured the last days. Her eyes began to sting. "Coward!" she accused herself. Trying to make her hands pull apart but lacking the strength.

"Oh god, Christine!" There was the sound of running feet and suddenly her hands were pried gently, but forcefully apart. She looked up, humiliated. But then she saw compassion flaming from green-blue depths.

"Erik," it was the only word that mattered. She spoke his name gratefully, thankful that he was there. Calming as she took in his shape. She reached with the hands he still held, touching him and feeling that he was real.

"Please," he breathed desperately. "Please, Christine, tell me this isn't because of me," his fingers brushed over the marks, making it clear what he spoke about.

She lowered her eyes guiltily. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't want him to find out like this! To appear so weak before Erik seemed unbearable. She pulled her fists back and crossed her arms, wanting to disappear but having nowhere to hide from his piercing stare.

"You have been hurting yourself." It was a statement, not a question. For how could there be any argument when he had discovered the condemning truth? She felt shock when she heard horror color his tone and perhaps fear as well. Her red-rimmed blue eyes glanced up timidly. When had Erik been afraid of anything?

His eyes met hers insistently, "Why, Christine? What have you done to deserve such punishment?"

"I'm…I'm not punishing myself."

He looked at her disbelievingly.

"I swear it, Erik," she said forcefully, her fervor lessoned by the shaking in her voice.

"Then why?" he insisted.

"It's nothing," she whimpered, pulling the sleeves of her gown as though hiding the evidence could end the issue.

"Don't you dare call this 'nothing', Christine," his concern began rising and morphing to anger. Lies were not going to placate him. Not after what he had seen.

"You were gone!" she shouted defensively, shocking them both with the despair in her words.

"I don't understand," he argued. "You must have known I would come back. I will always return to you, Christine," the promise was spoken so sincerely, for a moment she forgot why she had been so afraid.

But only for a moment. "You didn't before," she accused, not daring to look away from his incredulous expression. "You disappeared and…and you didn't come back. It was as though you had never existed at all, as though you truly were a ghost I had conjured of dreams and promises from my father. I was terrified of that," she admitted softly, regretting her words when she realized how pitiful she sounded.

"Terrified of what?"

"That you weren't real and you never existed. That you would forget me," she instinctively traced her bruises. "I believed that- if I remembered, if I could prove you weren't forgotten-," she paused searching his eyes that gave nothing away.

"Yes?" he prodded carefully.

"You would remember as well. I was afraid that when the bruises faded, I would have nothing left of you."

Erik winced. Would he ever be able to atone for the suffering he had inflicted? Even when he attempted what he believed was right, he ended up hurting someone. "You mean to tell me, you have been bruising yourself so you wouldn't lose me?" he asked her quietly.

"Yes, I was so confused, and truthfully I still am. I didn't know whether to miss you or call for you or if I should fear you for what you had done. But you vanished and seemed not to care anymore for me or how greatly your loss had hurt and tormented me," she continued to hold his eyes with her own blue ones, demonstrating a strength and bravery that Erik still found startling in its new appearance. "I wanted to forget you with every thought in my head, but every beat of my heart argued to keep your memory alive. I wasn't sure what that meant, but no matter what I attempted to assure myself that it was best to let you go, I simply could not summon the strength to do so."

"There are my questions, Erik," she suddenly said. "Why did you not come back? Why couldn't you see how lost I was without you?" Her words became angry and frustrated, "Why couldn't I let you go?"

"And here I believed it was obvious," he muttered. But seeing the stricken look cross her face, he continued seriously, "I thought you didn't want me. I abandoned you because I believed that was what you wanted of me. Christine, you practically declared yourself the Vicomte's the very night I frightened you. I felt unworthy of your company and thought you agreed. You speak of hurt and torment as though they are one sided, as though you alone felt such emotions during our separation. All the while I burned watching you give your attention to another man, one far better suited to you than I. I have already confessed why I did not reach out to you and it leads me to wonder why you remained silent and cold as well?"

Christine looked away, thoroughly shamed by the accusation in his voice. He had the truth of it. She had made very little effort to try to the mend the gap between them and when he finally reached out she had been cold and hateful even as he tried to make amends. "I'm afraid it is a sin to want to be with you, Erik," she admitted being more truthful with him than she ever had before. "And can you truly blame me if I was frightened then after all that had transpired?"

Erik felt her words hit him harshly, slicing through his compassion and hitting the despair that had been threatening since he glimpsed his darling Christine _hurting_ herself. It seemed to grow and increase in intensity as she called their relationship a "sin". Pain followed furiously because he already thought his love for her a perverse and wicked desire. Despite the purity of his affections, his love was tarnished and mangled by the hideousness of his face and the garishness in his deeds. He had unwittingly found evidence that his influence over Christine must be a tool of darkness. Why else would she resort to such lengths to simply remember him? "I see," he answered darkly. "I never intended to poison your soul, Christine, or burden you with vices that are not your own. But I apparently have already soiled you in some regard," he took in a shaky breath. Reaching out for her crossed arms, he untangled and drew them apart to better assess the newly worsened damage. Christine resisted only a moment before allowing him.

"I'm so sorry," the words sounded with such passion that Christine glanced up. "Though no apology could ever right this or absolve me of this atrocity I have brought about. You could name a way to gain your forgiveness and I would gladly give it," he declared, staring downward at the purpled expanse of her wrists. When one pulled away he showed no surprise. He expected her to draw back completely at any moment.

Erik started when the softness of a tiny white hand fitted to his unmasked cheek and drew his eyes upward. He fought the instinctive urge to draw away, but reveled in the warmth of her fingers against his skin. "This. Is. Not. Your. Fault," Christine told him slowly, stressing each word as though she could make them true if she said them with enough adamancy. "I never asked you to return, Erik. These are my own fault for trying to deny you. I'm not going to pretend I am decided upon whether or not I can trust you again. But," she paused on the word, not allowing Erik to become discouraged, "I am seeing you more clearly with every question and I am _trying_ to understand." With the last sentence the smallest smile lit her otherwise distressed expression. "However," she continued, "please do not disappear again, Erik."

"Is that truly what frightens you?" he asked, suddenly realizing the implications of what had transpired. "Are you…afraid of losing me?" He felt absurd asking such a question, but despite its unlikelihood, it appeared to be the impetus behind her desperate actions.

"Yes, I am," she answered without hesitation, her large blue eyes filling with fear with only the mention of such a possibility. "I don't believe I could bear it a second time."

"I meant what I said before. I will _always_ return to you, as long as that is what you wish. You can put faith into that promise." They shared a look, both measuring the other with such declarant words in the air. After the moment held too long, Erik interrupted, "We had best see to those bruises."

Before she thought twice about saying such words, Christine asked teasingly "Will you kiss it as father did to make it feel better?" She laughed slightly, attempting to break the serious gravity in the room. But when her blue eyes met with green-blue ones, she abruptly lost her breath for her gaze had encountered two eyes suddenly aflame.

"Is that what you desire? Is that one of your questions?" asked a golden voice made husky, as a cold hand pulled her closer.

Christine lost any will to protest, and even had she the words, she still would not have stopped him.

Erik felt horridly inadequate, afraid he should caress her wrongly, but he could not restrain himself, not when she had let the word "kiss" fall from her lips. Hesitantly, he lifted the same hand he had caressed the night before and brought it gently to his lips. He kissed her slowly, cherishing each individual print with his lips. Christine gasped gently and when he glanced up to witness her response, her eyes were clouded with what appeared to be want.

Unbelievable, she couldn't truly desire him, could she? Erik turned his attention to her other abused wrist, lavishing upon it the same attention as the last. He could feel her pulse leap and stutter beneath his mouth. He let his tongue taste the creaminess of her skin, just once, and the sweetness almost overwhelmed him.

"Erik, please!" she entreated, her voice filled with need.

He drew back to look at her with her cheeks flaming and one hand fluttering against her heart. Erik stood with a secretive smile. "That will do for this morning, Christine," he said softly.

* * *

**Well, quite a development and a surprise that kind of happened as I wrote. Hope I will hear from all of my wonderful readers and maybe even some new friends. **

**Please review! Really they are the greatest gift you can give me.**

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	8. Mon Cœur S'Ouvre à ta Voix

**Sheepshanks-Yay for sweetness and I'm happy you liked the tenderness as well! As for elaboration….hehe we'll have to see ;)**

**Irene Sharda-Steamy development? Ooh that was a great way to phrase that last scene! Also, I love your defense of loving Erik and seeing how slightly illogical Christine's "sin" mentality is. And I completely agree that no one deserves a loveless life. I'm glad you've liked some of the other ways I've developed Christine and I hope I continue to please you i9n that area as the story progresses! **

**RosePC786- Hehehehe I'm still laughing about your review. So funny and so true! I'm excited that I left you wanting more last chapter and I sincerely wish that you will enjoy this chapter as well!**

**CaptainHooksGirl- Glad you liked my "kiss it to make it better" thing. I honestly didn't plan for that to happen and it surprised me a little when it came to mind, so it makes me happy that my readers think it's good. Also, about Raoul: though I personally am not a fan I do actually believe he is a good man in his own way, just (as you said) not the right man for Christine. I try to write him believably and it's nice to know you thought his actions understandable. **

**Million- Thanks for saying last ch. Was unexpected, I meant for it to be a little shocking. Also, nope, hehe Erik never has been typical. On the bruises…hmmm I hadn't thought of that, but they mainly stayed from Christine remarking herself, does that make sense?**

**Wings to the Sky- Oh my goodness! Thank you so much for reading this entire story and taking time to review. (Also, I too love the Hobbit and ma quite amazed I managed to distract from so epic a movie). Thanks for calling me "incredible", I truly try my best and it is wonderful to hear such sweet compliments. As to what you said about my descriptions of music: its true I adore music and use that passion to help write the scenes that include it. I'm amazed that you could tell how much I love it and it means a lot to hear that, not to mention you complimenting my character development as well! Thanks so much and I hope to hear from you again!**

**Amalia Santoro- Glad you liked her question and I know right? Hehe that is probably one of the most suave moments I've written for Erik so far, tempting man. And yeah I tend to forget Raoul sometimes as well, thought it was about time to bring him into the plot. (And you're right, he is a pretty nice guy)**

**Venture Wood-angelofmusic75- Glad you enjoyed it and I like your "nonsense" but any review from you is wonderful! Hope you like this chapter as well darling!**

**FudgyMuffins- Awww thanks for saying I write Christine and Erik "perfectly" that is great to hear for I love them both a try to keep them in character. Happy I left you eager for more and I hope you will enjoy this chapter also!**

**Vampgirliegirl- I know, that cliffie was pretty intense. Sorry but I had to :D Hoep the suspense was worth it!**

**Nami Swannn- I know, dang Erik for being so unintentionally seductive! Nice to know I'm not the only one who realizes how tempting he is!**

**Laurie- Passionate kisses, I too cannot wait (if they ever get there). And I'll try to keep it up!**

**UltimateKawaiiGirl- Hehe glad you liked my sweetness! I try :D Hope you like this one too!**

**Phanatic01- Thanks for appreciating my cliffie, I thought it was rather devious. Thanks for being ok with it taking 2 weeks as well. (Always a wonderful thing to hear)**

**Everyonedeserveslove- Yes, indeed he does have swagger. Erik is more Don Juan than we expect sometimes. **

**Save the Date- Thank you about not rushing because I want this story to be the best it can. Thanks also for liking Christine's self-consciousness and realizing what her anxiety meant! And yes, poor Raoul doesn't realize how true his suspicions are. About more questions, I have several in mind you might enjoy :D **

**PhantomWatcher- Happy you thought it "sweet" and were left looking forward to this chapter. I hope you enjoy it as well!**

**Max-rose-clary- Do not apologize, I know how life can be, though I did miss hearing from you! Thanks for taking the time to review 6 this time. (Ch 6)- Glad you're enjoying the overall mysterious feel and loving my characterization. (Ch 7)- Thanks so much for saying that I humanize Erik. It is true, some people forget he is still a person, despite having attributes both god and monster like. Also, glad my Christine is still shaping up well, Hope you enjoy this chapter! (And on a side note, I hope to receive another chapter from you as well ;D )**

**Finally a huge thanks to Starcrier, my amazing BETA. Thanks darling for taking the time to help improve this story (even when you're on vacation of all things!). You constantly help improve this story! Much love! (Also happy you thought this chapter "thought provoking" and reviewing every chapter, you're the sweetest!) **

* * *

Since the morning, Erik and Christine had spoken very little. He tried to give her ample opportunity to interact, but she had remained exceedingly shy, her eyes always holding a sort of wonderment and curiosity whenever she dared to meet his eyes. Many a time when he spoke her gaze would unintentionally wander to his lips. Erik could not help but feel the smallest amount of pride and haughty victory at this occurrence. It was becoming very clear that Christine could actually desire _him_. He felt such a revelation was astonishing in the extreme. Yet, melancholy doubt and reserve instantly invaded his mind when considering such thoughts. It must be much easier and more probable for her to want him with his mask in place. Surely if he ever removed the article, disgust would follow swiftly.

This depressing idea was greatly disheartening. Though he wished she would learn to see past his physical imperfection, even he hated their oddities. It would not be fair of him to expect so great a miracle as her accepting his scars when even he could not bear their distorted features. He tried to not dwell upon the subject, but it was hard to ignore.

It surprised him that Christine did not venture to ask any further questions though she had asked precisely five during the course of the morning. Though he had not answered all and some were rhetorical, his precise mind had still captured each one as they came from her lips. Just as the first night he had counted six inquiries though only two were legitimate so he had allowed her to get away with minor prodding and prompting that truly would be unfair to count as qualifiers.

But he had expected her to come after more information and answers but even her curiosity had been suppressed by whatever she was feeling, for it was obvious that she had been constantly thinking deeply. Erik wondered immensely what the topic of these reveries was, but refrained from asking as he feared changing the course or outcomes of this contemplation. He noticed it had occurred after she had retired to her room for several hours after lunch. She had re-emerged with a pensive expression, full of doubt and confusion. Changed as her demeanor was, it made _him_ become the curious one. However, Erik was not one to so easily submit to intrigue, so instead of questioning her, he allowed her to tell him if she decided she wanted to.

The night passed without this occurrence, but Erik contented himself with the fact that she had agreed to remain with him yet another night. When he had delivered her letter to the managers to forward to the Vicomte, he had taken the liberty of reading it first. He had to admit she had handled to situation admirably. Her subtle manipulation of the boy to prevent any protestations he might voice was something to be admired. The line he enjoyed in the extreme was, "_It brings me such joy to realize that you are proud of my music instead of ashamed as weaker men would be." _Oh, he hoped the stupid boy could see the hidden insult. He would have enjoyed seeing his expression upon reading_ that_.

What confused him, however, were the fabricated rules Christine had created for herself. It was true that when their lessons had started so long ago he had asked her to practice detachment from anything save music when they were together. But this time he had made no such demands. All the tripe about limiting her communication had been her own idea. Why she would purposely estrange herself from the Vicomte, he could not begin to fathom. But he was grateful for it.

She had also appeared to say in her letter that _he_ was the one in control of her stay. As though, she actually wanted him to give her a reason to remain longer. Though he had no objection to prolonging her stay, he wished she would do it completely of her own desire instead of finding excuses. Yet, Erik could hardly chide her for that when he had enabled her with the excuse of questions and answers.

He never thought he would regret his decision to give her an incentive to stay. But if there was even the smallest chance that Christine would remain with him because she _wanted_ to, Erik would rather know.

He sighed softly and began to play, for he had been in his music room instead of attempting to sleep. Christine's voice eventually sang him to sleep, but only inside his mind.

* * *

Christine sat comfortably on a love seat in Erik's sitting room, reading one of his many books to amuse herself. She tried to stay distracted, but it was difficult. After a short breakfast, during which Erik did not eat, Erik withdrew to his music room, leaving her to her own devices that morning. She feared he was avoiding her because of the awkwardness that had been built between them. Perhaps he hadn't felt it until she had begun behaving differently.

But she couldn't help herself. Erik had left her wanting the morning he had kissed her bruises. Had she ever felt such flames as when that man pressed his lips into her skin? It had been delicious but so terribly frightening, for Christine had never been attacked by such raw desire. One taste seemed to have inspired a hunger she had never known. Even though she attempted to maintain an air of normalcy, every time Erik was in the same room her thoughts would go back to his kiss and touch. Yet she couldn't want him that way, desire would cloud her mind even more than it already was and make figuring out her questions and decisions even harder. She had spoken little the night before and worked to pull her emotions back into control, resulting to hiding in her room for hours before she had the courage to face him.

Now she felt guilty for her seeming avoidance and realized how cold she might have come across. The result of her actions, however, had been somewhat gratifying. Music had been echoing throughout Erik's home since his disappearance and Christine wanted nothing more than to make amends and explain her fears. Erik had always been there to help her overcome such obstacles and explain what she couldn't understand. Desire of such potency was new and mysterious to her. But she didn't know if she had the nerve to ask him of such a topic, especially when he had been the one to stir the feeling in her.

A sudden shift in the music interrupted her thoughts once more and Christine thought of a question she would be willing to ask.

* * *

Erik was beginning to doubt his suspicions of Christine. She had stayed so much to herself; he feared she might be changing her mind about staying. He was afraid to seek her out and confirm his thoughts. Instead he had remained in his music room, composing and playing to ease some of the tension in his taut body. The tunes flowed and changed according to his feelings and he was unaware of their changes. He felt it when Christine entered the room. Unsurprised he continued to play out the many instrumentals that should have accompanied his chosen selection. But then he heard the faintest and most amazing sound. Christine's angelic voice hummed the melody of the song, following beautifully the harmonies he created. His eyes snapped open and he scarcely contained a gasp as her voice grew stronger, more fervent with every pitch. Such temptation, as though she meant to drive him mad with her beguiling sound, yet withhold its full beauty to simply vex him. It did not take long for him to succumb. "Christine," he whispered reverently. "Please, would you sing?" If she would only say yes! Erik wanted to hear her fantastic tone, to revel in the magnificence of her beautiful instrument.

Her way of answering was to shift seamlessly from humming to singing the lyrics of the aria. Erik suddenly realized it was Dalila's aria "_Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix"_ from _Samson et Dalila_. Despite the mezzo soprano range of the piece, Christine still managed to bring lightness and an almost unintentional innocence to each phrase.

"_Mais, ô mon bienaimé,_

_pour mieux sécher mes pleurs,_

_que ta voix parle encore!"_

"_My heart opens to your voice_" how true the title of the song was for him in that moment. Erik could hardly believe how adamantly she sang each word, filling them with purpose and beseeching as though he was her Samson. She had come to stand in the bow of the piano, her blue eyes gazing at him with sweetness and her lips holding a hint of smile even as she sang.

" _Ah! réponds à ma tendresse!_

_Verse-moi, verse-moi l'ivresse!_ »

Erik was hit by the erotic phrase she sang. _Fill me with ecstasy. _Even though her body and voice echoed innocence, he still trembled at the suggestive words of the song. Lord, she was his Dalila, tempting him to fall from grace with her beauty and loveliness. He only prayed she did not deceive him.

"Erik?" Though the music continued, she spoke over the piano. "Will you teach me again? Please?"

He glanced sharply at her, taken aback by the question. Though he considered her singing for him a gift, he hadn't thought of it leading to such a request. Erik pondered the possibility a moment. When he had instructed her before, they had grown close as a result of shared passion. She had come to trust him and value him due to their lessons. A sort of intimacy had existed between them in the realm of music. Perhaps he could help mend the broken faith between them more quickly if he indulged in what had originally brought their lonely souls together.

And…

He would be lying if he didn't admit that Christine's performance had fallen quite noticeably since the hiatus in his instruction to her. The prospect of rebuilding what she had lost and possibly helping her improve to even greater achievement intrigued him.

He measured her emotions with his eyes, checking for pretense or anything to indicate an ulterior motive for her question. He found none, only an insatiable hunger, a need he knew stemmed only from their separation and losing a bond they had both relied upon for so long.

"I suppose I shall, if that is what you wish," he responded tentatively, afraid to appear as eager as he truly was. "But you must expect me to demand the same excellence and sacrifice I once asked of you. I will hold you to my standards and accept only your absolute dedication to our work during lessons. Can you do that, Christine? Considering our current agreement, that may not be the easiest of tasks."

"I will, Erik. I promise, I'll do as you say, just as before." She seemed ecstatic at the idea, smiling brilliantly, nearly making him lose his train of thought. When was the last time he had received such an unguarded, genuinely joyful response from her?

"And Christine?" he paused, afraid to ask such a thing but knowing it was necessary if he was going to teach her again.

"Yes?"

"You will have to _trust_ me," he stated emphatically. "I cannot hope to truly influence you if you constantly must question my motives and separate us with suspicion. In music, you must be _mine_, willfully and completely. Your heart, soul, everything must belong to me alone in our lessons, without reserve or hesitation. Outside of my instruction you may do and feel as you please," Erik told her bluntly. He would present her no delusions, but his prerequisites had not altered since their first agreement when he had originally offered her tutelage. Christine shouldn't be surprised, yet she had to realize that simply because their circumstances had changed, didn't mean his desire for perfection had. "If you can surrender yourself entirely during our sessions, I will teach you again."

Instead of the expected fearful resistance he had expected, Erik watched in confusion as Christine brightened at every word he said, as though his demands were wonderful to hear. How odd.

"Erik, could we begin now? You may even count that as a question if you wish. But please do say yes!" she entreated shamelessly, desperately wanting to share in his world of music now that it was a possibility.

Erik's lips pulled up at one corner in a sideways smirk hearing childish excitement fill her voice. Though he would never compare her to a child belittlingly, Christine was easily pleased by the small things in her life and treated minor occurrences with a sweet wonderment he used to find endearing. It was indescribably gratifying to him to see her slowly returning to her old self around him, losing her false charade of refinement and control over her positive emotions.

"Let us compromise. Allow me to assess what state your instrument and performance is in tonight, and tomorrow we can begin to attempt progress. For now I want you to sing each piece I name, I am positive you will be familiar with all of them as they will be selections from your old repertoire. In every single one I want to hear your best musicianship, make them mean something. You can read dynamic markings and notes from the composers easily enough, but only you can add _feeling_ to a song. I'm sure you recall that much from our sessions?" he questioned in a businesslike fashion, keeping his own feelings at bay.

"Words are meaningless without emotion. Only the singer can tell the story," she recited one of her earliest lessons verbatim.

"Exactly," he agreed, with a slight chuckle at her flawless memory. "Shall we begin?"

The day continued with no further serious questions and Christine did not mourn their loss. Overjoyed that they would commence her lessons again, she couldn't have been more satisfied with her answers for the evening.

They worked for several hours, Erik picking apart every note and pitch with a constant expectation of flawless performance. Her range had suffered a bit, she had lost at least two and half notes from her upper register and he stopped the soprano vocal exercises before she hurt her voice in an effort to please. Her vowels seemed intact, though she still had the bad habit of spreading her "e" vowel wide. Her vibrato still reverberated nicely never overly showy or ostentatious, only decorating when it was necessary and never used when purity would suit better. It pleased him that she retained the knowledge on when to use such tools and when they would only diminish. But he could see it in her eyes, she knew, as he did, that her talent was not what it used to be when she had improved and practiced every day, keeping her voice exercised, stretched, and maintained while also enriching it the longer she studied under Erik's care.

Erik could forgive the contraction of her vocal register, but what he could not endure was the loss of emotion from her performance. He had given her several recitations and arias, each with a different tone behind its words. Mournful, thoughtful, forlorn, enraged, passionate, joyous, Christine strove to portray each one and he did not believe any of them. Frustration fought to break free of his outward calm, but he bit back words of criticism, knowing how easily she wilted under too many harsh words. Unfortunately he had an abundance of them, but he knew he could only present the most pressing at the conclusion of his evaluation, lest he hurt her with his judgment.

Underneath his role of teacher, Erik basked in the gloriousness of her voice. Out of practice as it was, it still was the singular most bewitching and beautiful thing he had ever had the honor to hear. If his pride had permitted him, he would have fallen at her feet in gratitude for her giving him another chance to share in music once more.

"What do you think?" Christine ventured cautiously when they had finished as he sorted the sheet music back into his extensive shelves reserved for his musical literature alone.

He turned to face her and Christine recognized the expression of her teacher warring with the face of her angel. Reserve, pride, disappointment, and hope all mingled behind a façade of indifference. "I should ask you the same," he responded evenly. "What say you of your performance? How do you think you did?"

She bowed her head sheepishly, "Not very well. My range has been diminished due to lack of constant practice."

"Very good and yes that is one flaw, anything else?" the tightness in his voice hinted at his true vexation with her lackluster performance.

Though Erik voiced no criticism, she winced at the coolness in his eyes. "M-my vowels were spread too wide, not full as they should be," she admitted.

"Correct," he clipped shortly. "Your "e" vowel especially has a tendency to widen and border on making the note sound flat despite your general flawless pitch. Anything else?"

Christine bit her lip but did not answer, not entirely sure what he was expecting to hear.

Erik huffed shortly and sat at the piano bench, pressing his fingertips together slowly in an attempt to control his displeasure. He glared directly into her eyes, giving her no place to hide from him, for honesty would be crucial. "Although you have named significant flaws, you have either ignored or been unaware of the greatest and most important one. I asked you to demonstrate emotion to me in each song you sang. To my great disappointment you stirred _no_ true sentiment in any of them. Despite your lovely pitch and mesmerizing tone, the music you created failed in its purpose: to make the listener _feel _something, experience each discovery and emotion with you. You cannot possibly hope to accomplish this if you do not _believe_ and _feel_ what you are singing. Do you not agree, Christine?"

She nodded her head quickly, fighting back tears at his criticism. Erik was too observant for that however. "That," he said gently indicating her reddened eyes, "is beautiful. Let the tears fall, stop suppressing your emotions. Feel, Christine. Quit this irritating control and let yourself be." As one glistening drop rolled down her fine cheek, his expression softened further, even beneath his mask she could see the shift.

"However," he whispered delicately, rising and crossing over to her. "I never meant to cause you pain." Cautiously, he lifted one elegant hand to wipe the moisture from her skin. The caress from his cold hand made a shiver run down her spine. Even so his touch lingered. "Understand that I only criticize because I must as your teacher. It is my duty to help you improve. But…," he hesitated uncertainly, "it is ever so much harder when I must see hurt as a result of my words."

"No, it's alright," she protested weakly. "I want to please you, and I must endure such disappointments if I am ever to do so again."

At this Erik shook his head disbelievingly. "Please me?" he asked incredulously. "Christine, you have inspired more joy in this lesson that I have dared to hope for in weeks. Yes, I am disappointed that you have lost such a brilliant piece of yourself. But I am honored that you have deigned, even desired to share your voice with me again. No angel could have received a greater gift. You needn't be so concerned with my pleasure. If ever I am pleased, it can only be a result of you."

Christine's tears turned to a genuine smile under such praise. "Thank you, Erik," she said sincerely.

He waved a hand dismissively, taking no credit for his kind words. "Tomorrow we shall begin your lessons for true. For now, I shall bid you goodnight. Sleep well, my dear."

"Goodnight, Erik."

Christine fell asleep early, with a smile upon her lips, as his words resounded in her mind.

_If ever I am pleased, it can only be a result of you._

* * *

**_Did you enjoy it my readers? What do you think about this new development? About everything? Please review and tell me, for I dearly love to hear your opinions!_**

**_Much love!_**

**_~bo-leigh bella_**


	9. Convincing, Conviction

**Dear readers, last chapter I received less than half of the number of the previous chapter's reviews. Do not misunderstand I ADORED the ones I received, but I missed hearing from my other friends. Hope I will see a few of you back this chapter.**

_**Also ANNOUCEMENT! Due to how long my personal responses are, I would like to ask you all if I could post them on my profile after every update. I still want to give feedback, for reviews mean so much to me, but the responses are skewing my word count for each chapter and I do not want anyone to think I am trying to false advertise. I have done this chapter normally, but the next I intend to post on my page. Please tell me however if this bothers you or will discourage you to review. Thanks!**_

**FudgyMuffins- Thanks so much for calling my characterization of Erik "flawless" and my portrayal of the cast perfect! Thank you also for giving love to my pacing, always a wonderful thing to hear for a FF on an update schedule. **

**Kumon5- Oh, it is nice to officially meet you! And thanks for saying the lesson was realistic. As for your question, no I did not do overly much research except on the song from Samson et Delila. But yes, I really do sing, belting as opposed to soprano. I've been in chorus for seven years now. If you want, take a look at one of my solos on youtube. I'll put the link on my profile.**

**CaptainHooksGirl- Aww I adored writing that little moment so im so excited it was your favorite part of the last chapter. As for them opening up, I agree. Our poor confused couple need to learn a little on self-expression.**

**Irene Sharda- So glad you enjoy Erik's inner musings, dissection of the character's thoughts is something I really enjoy. And yes! You're right on it about her trouble emoting. And poor Christine, without a mom and far away from confidants, she has a lot of confusion over desire.**

**Laurie- I love the way you said that "softly, slowly" (makes me think of music of the night). Thanks so much!**

**Vampgirliegirl- Thanks! So happy to hear it!**

**Nami Swann- Glad I could shed some light on the complexities of singing. It is so confusing in the technicalities. Excited that I left you looking forward to the next one :D**

**Hopeishere16- No need to apologize, but it is wonderful to hear from you again! I'm truly honored to hear that you think my version of Christine and Erik, and their dynamic as a couple, is beautiful. It is so true that FF authors create more and expound upon the depictions of our favorite characters, and it makes it so worth it to hear that our ideas are appreciated!**

**Starcrier- Thanks you for all of your guidance with this story and helping me feel comfortable with even my extreme ideas for this tale. It really helps me feel confident about posting and I can never thank you enough darling!**

* * *

Christine woke up with anxious anticipation clouding her mind. The night before had been slightly disheartening when Erik had pointed out how far she had fallen, but his words of how pleased he already was with her gave her hope. She prepared for the day carefully, taking a long bath to drain the tension out of her body before she did anything else. Afterwards she went through her extensive wardrobe, trying to pick an appropriate gown for her first lesson. She knew restricting laces would only hinder her breath support so she searched for the ones made simply, without too many ties.

Christine eventually chose a sweet confection of peach colored satin accented in creamy lace trim. The dress buttoned up the back and only a wide ribbon around her waist cinched anything in. She tied it snuggly into a charming bow.

With a final look into her mirror, she rushed out of her room to find Erik. Instead of her teacher, she found a warm breakfast in the dining room and a note in his elegant scrawl.

_Christine,_

_Forgive me for not joining you for breakfast this morning, but I arose much earlier and have much to do to prepare for our lesson. Pray join me in the music room when you are ready._

_Yours,_

_Erik_

She smiled at his name, remembering how greatly she had wished to see it when she read his last note. She ate her breakfast hastily, drinking hot tea instead of coffee to soothe her throat. As soon as she finished, she hastened to the music room, rapping quickly on the door so as not to interrupt Erik.

"Enter," he called back.

She opened the door with a grin, finding him already at the piano as though he had been ready for hours. Her entrance was greeted with a slight gasp and his eyes widened as he took her in. He cleared his throat before venturing, "You look exquisite this morning, my dear."

Christine smiled sheepishly, blushing prettily at the compliment. "Thank you, Erik." She took a moment to sneak a peek at him beneath her lashes. As ever, he wore formal dress clothes, deep black dress coat and pants as were his normal. The cravat he wore was a deep emerald, setting off the light green hues in his eyes. She thought about commenting on his debonair appearance, but didn't have the courage to voice it.

"Shall we begin?" he asked quickly, breaking the sudden silence. "Or do you have questions you would like to ask first?"

Christine searched her mind for anything she wanted right then. In her eagerness to begin their lesson, she could think of nothing that she wanted more in that moment. She shook her head 'no', and moved to stand in the bow of the piano.

"Very well," he said, amused with her enthusiasm. "Today I have decided that we shall focus on training you to express emotion again. Your range and vowels will not matter in the slightest if you cannot emulate the feeling of your music. As with yesterday, I have chosen several selections that I believe will be a reasonable place to begin channeling your emotions. However, we shall not move to the next piece until you present the emotions of the previous. And be warned, _ange_," the endearment fell so naturally from his lips, he did not question why he decided to use it, "I will not accept mere _acting. _In fact, if you attempt to hide behind simple fabricated performance, I shall be very disappointed. I want experience, feeling, not a façade of the chosen character. Yes?"

Christine swallowed nervously, she had forgotten until that moment how much vulnerability singing for Erik required. He was never satisfied until the music consumed her very soul and she lived what she sang. "I…I will try my best, Erik," she stuttered uncertainly.

He pinned her with his stare. "Conviction, Christine," he stated forcefully, already worried at how timid she seemed.

"Let's start with a simple emotion, pure excitement and happiness." He presented her with the score of _Romeo et Juliette_, opened to the scene of Juliette's entrance to the ball. Erik sat at the piano and began an introduction.

Christine took a fortifying breath, trying to focus on her excitement and gladness at beginning lessons again. She smiled and lifted her brows, thinking of the girlish excitement of Juliette. She had only sung a few lines before she was cut off with an abrupt cessation of the music. She looked at Erik timidly. "What's wrong?"

Icy green-blue eyes seemed to penetrate through her. "I am simply waiting on you to feel," he told her sharply. "What kind of artifice is that faux smile you donned? I tried to give it time to transform into a true expression of joy, but it remained lifeless. The emotion I did see was anxiety and calculation." As though he had read her mind, he continued, "desist this pondering of the character's situation and emotions, make this about _you_, not Juliette. If you cannot express _yourself,_ how can you hope to portray the feelings of a character?"

Though his question was asked without malice, it hit Christine harshly despite. "I'm sorry, I'm trying. Truly I am."

"Which is precisely the problem," he murmured. "There should be no effort involved in feeling, Christine. It is not forced, nor created. It is inspired. You must find that inspiration, the spark that ignites the desired emotion within you like a flame." He looked at her with a pensive frown. "Close your eyes," he bid quietly. She acquiesced immediately, letting her lids flutter shut. "Now, envision the night of your premiere, the gala where you sang so triumphantly. Can you recall it? You were dressed in a heavenly confection of lace and the entire theatre had sold out. Remember that nervousness, part happiness at such an opportunity with a bit of hesitance at the uncertainty of how you would be received." He watched intently as a small crease formed in her brow while the smallest smile curved her lips.

"What made you proud that night? What made you giddy with excitement?" he asked her.

"I was overjoyed that I would finally perform as we had planned," she whispered breathlessly. "But I was only proud when I saw the rose in my dressing room, telling me that I had pleased you," she spoke as she had when Erik had been her angel, adoring and fervent. "It made me laugh with happiness." She opened her eyes and looked at him, the sapphires shimmering with fond memories. "All the applause, the compliments, they meant nothing compared to your praise. _You_ were to one to inspire me that night," she revealed softly. "That night is one of the happiest memories I have," she spoke so sincerely, Erik found it difficult to doubt her.

"Before it was tarnished by discovering your angel was the phantom, you mean," he interjected apathetically, attempting to dim the excitement she had incited with her words before she pushed him to hope to much.

"No," she argued simply. "Why must you doubt me? I'm attempting to be open as you asked me."

Erik huffed impatiently, "Forgive me, but your words and actions tend to contradict. Perhaps I used to inspire your performance once. It simply does not appear to be the case any longer. It I were still your muse, would you not perform perfectly now?"

His words sparked an idea in Christine's head. "You have been trying to teach me with my own experiences," she stated. "May I ask what your own happiest memory is?"

Erik's eyes widened minutely, but other than that he showed no surprise at the question. She was taking this lesson into dangerous places with that prying inquiry. "All of my fondest recollections center around you, surely you must know that?" he answered as though it was obvious.

"But which one is your most treasured?" she pressed, knowing she would willingly use all of her questions for the day to attain the answer she sought. Christine watched as Erik ran his hand through his hair quickly, uncharacteristically showing the nervousness he felt.

Erik struggled to form the words he needed. This question was of such a personal nature and he feared the answers would make him seem pathetic to her. "I can hardly narrow them down to one when each moment with you holds its own reason for joy. However," he stopped her before she could protest, "I will tell you the ones I believe the most potent in the…happiness I've felt. The first must be the night you performed at the gala. I remember you came back to our lesson that night and exclaimed 'you must know it was all for you. I only ever sing for you, angel'. You wanted so desperately to make me happy and I was beyond euphoria at such words. Oh the bliss, Christine you cannot imagine!"

She smiled softly, recalling how greatly she had loved him. Her eyes grew round in shock. Had she almost thought the word "love" in regards to Erik? A small part of her reminded that she truly had loved him as her angel, but she had tried to force the emotion from her heart when he had revealed himself as the Opera Ghost. As she looked into his sincere eyes, Christine thought that perhaps that hadn't changed so much as she liked to pretend. "And the second memory?" she bid breathlessly, still confused by her thoughts.

"When you touched me," he told her, hiding how the fear he felt so intensely. "I-I had never had anyone willingly touch me before and you did so because you wanted to, or so you said," his voice still held the suspicion that her words had not been true. But even if it had been a manipulation, Erik could not find the strength to curse the miracle of her caress.

"Play the entrance again," she said, giving no other response to his admissions.

Erik hid his disappointment, lowering his eyes so she could not glimpse any trace. Obviously the foolish girl had become uncomfortable as a result of the honesty she had been wanting. Resigning himself to the hurt of being avoided, he again played the entrance for her.

The second he heard the first pitch, Erik hardly believed the splendor of it. Each individual note held its own brilliancy as she made what should have been only recitative lines into beauty that would put arias to shame. Joy, he heard it in each word and phrase, beaming through her voice like the sun. When he dared to glance up, her blue eyes held him transfixed. They gazed at him with a euphoric gleam and her smile was genuine in every sweet curve. His breath halted and he struggled to place his fingers on the correct keys, so great was his distraction.

As the last line faded with the final chords, Christine ventured timidly, "You see, ange? You still are my only inspiration. There has never been another."

For a brief moment, he truly believed her and was overcome with the amazement of it. But then, his ever realistic mind pointed out flaws in her claim. "Forgive me, but I beg to argue that point. One of the most sincere songs you ever sang was not for me."

"What do you mean?"

"When I found you in the cemetery, you were singing. Never had I heard you express so honestly your emotions and I was amazed at how vulnerable you let yourself become. I hardly dared to call that song music for I had never heard another to compare with its astounding sound. You made me _feel_ with you, Christine. At the same moment that I felt pride at hearing such a miracle from your voice, I ached due to the absolute anguish within your song. But, to my disappointment, and relief, it was not of I you sang. Every word spoke of your father, missing and mourning him."

Christine remained silent, absorbing what he said, scarcely daring to breathe for fear he would immediately discover the truth. Part of her wanted nothing more than for him to realize how wrong he was, but the other still sought answers. Her curiosity won out. "Why were you relieved when you believed it was my father I mourned?"

His jaw tightened, as though the very idea hurt him. "Despite the fact that I am renowned as a monster, I would never take pleasure in your pain. God, I could hardly bear to allow you to continue your song as the pain within it tortured me. Once, all I ever desired was to protect you. But how was I to keep you safe from the hurt of your own memories? Your past? Your mind is a foe I cannot best with wits or strength, though I gladly would have attempted had I thought it would do any good. When I first thought it was I that had caused such sadness, such…," he struggled to say what he truly believed Christine had suffered. "Hopelessness," he said sadly, "I could barely endure it. I never wanted to create such despondency, not even if it was _for_ me."

"And your disappointment, where did that come from?"

Her sudden bombardment of curiosity had intrigued him. What was she trying to gain? "Well, despite my aversion to hurting you, I had hoped for a moment that you might have truly missed me. After being secluded from you for weeks, I wished for you to perhaps have wanted me to return as well. Also, I am your teacher and was your angel. I suppose it made me jealous that the most sincere moment of music in your life was not for me." He shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm quite selfish that way."

Christine marveled over how greatly he cared for her. Every time he spoke of his devotion, it never ceased to astound her. His honesty had made her brave. "Erik, what if I told you, I _had_ been singing for you that day? Would you believe me?"

"I should find it quite difficult since you had mentioned the word "father" during your song," he admitted. "I am convinced it was not for me, but that's alright," he said as though to reassure her. "Though I envy the possession of that beautiful moment, I will not swallow lies for pretend." There was just the faintest tint of anger to his voice.

"Erik, please listen to me," she pleaded. There must be something to convince him, there had to be. "It changed," she blurted suddenly, "my song. Did it not?"

Erik's mind immediately pinpointed the alteration she mentioned. It was true. Her song had transformed when she had begged to let go of the past. Before that moment, she already sounded beyond beautiful. But after her plea, the entirety of her voice had soared into a sound that astonished him then and now. He had fantasized often of the potential of her amazing instrument, but she had surpassed even those dreams that snowy day. But if what she said was true…he could hardly form the thought. If her claim did prove to be true, then Christine must care for him more than she let on.

No. No! He silenced the assumption before he could ponder it too much. He was a monster, a villain. Surely, if anything, she only longed for her protective angel back. Unfortunately for her, he was an angel no longer. "Christine, what are you trying to say?" he asked seriously, his voice lower and more sinister than he meant to sound. "Just tell me plainly."

"At first, I was singing for father," she said in a rush, obviously frightened by the edge in his voice. "But the more I sang of wishing for him to return, the more I realized that it was you I wanted instead. I wanted you back because you left and I thought you'd never return. I believed you no longer cared about me and it broke my heart, Erik," as she spoke her words grew desperate, as though Erik hadn't returned and she still was without him. "But I'm such a coward," she accused herself harshly. "You were right when you said so. I couldn't find the bravery to search for you or call for you. Yet my voice has always been yours. You may call me a liar until you cannot speak, but you are wrong if you believe that I did not sing for you." She began to tremble, quivering in fear that he would yell at her for a lie she had not told. "Please, please will you believe me?" she begged him.

"Convince me," he demanded back, still wary.

"How can I?" she questioned.

"You have prattled on about this mourning for my loss, yet I think you have forgotten exactly who it is that you missed. I am not an angel beneath the mask, as you surely must know. Could you look upon the monstrosity of my face and make the same claim? Days ago you pronounced me a murderer and trembled in my presence. Can you truly declare that even _then_ you wanted me back, knowing my horrid deeds and disfigured scars?"

He expected her to bow her little head and drop the subject, yet instead he heard a tremulous, "Yes, I did."

In three long strides he loomed over her menacingly, tilting her pale chin up with his thumb and forefinger. "Say that again," he ordered darkly, wanting to force her to quit this game. Disappointment could only come from it.

"I did," she said unflinching beneath his probing eyes. "I missed you even then. Your face doesn't change anything, Erik."

"Oh, doesn't it?" His question came through tense lips as his eyes narrowed at such provoking words. How dare she say such a thing! "Shall we test that conviction?" Slipping his hand through her curls, he fitted his palm to her nape, ensuring that she could not look away. Without hesitation he ripped the infernal mask free, putting his distortion on display before her eyes. Every scar, every warped imperfection, he put them all inches away from her angelic face. His fingers tangled in her curls, giving her no freedom to turn her head away.

Immediately, her eyes filled with tears and pain. "Tell me, Christine! How much did you long for this face? Tell me how greatly you missed me!" She recoiled under his ferocity, wincing with every demand. Fear, Erik read it as she stared at his scars. Her blue eyes trembled with terror and how he despised being able to see it so clearly! Her lips moved as though she would say something, but he didn't want to hear her words of horror and regret. With a feral growl, he jerked away in rage, turning away from yet another disappointment. He quickly hid again behind his mask, shielding his ignorant girl from facing the monster.

"Erik," Christine called tentatively.

"Get out," he hissed. "This lesson is over."

"But-,"

"Get out!" he roared, watching in sick satisfaction as she ran out the door and took refuge from him.

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**So...what do you think? This chapter took a turn even I didn't expect and I'd love to hear your thoughts my lovely reviewers. PLEASE REVIEW, truly it gives me the determination to keep writing and is a wonderful reward for the time I spend writing.**

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**~bo-leigh bella**


	10. Destroying Disbelief

**My lovely readers! Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. If you did not read the announcement last chapter, your personal responses can be found on my profile. They were getting a little lengthy but I still want you all to know how much I appreciate your input and reviews so I simply moved them. If you don't like this please tell me. Pm or review.**

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* * *

Run! Christine's mind screamed the word the second his golden voice attacked her with the vicious command, "Get out!" The pain of that order was too much to endure. Every time she tried to reach out to him, every time she tried to prove herself, he hurt her. With his unbelief and suspicion guarding his heart like a steel wall, she began to lose hope of ever reaching him. She had attempted to be honest and had been brutally punished. So she ran away from the heartbreak.

She sprinted out of the music room and fled down the hall. The doorway to her own quarters stood open invitingly, but she ignored the sanctuary it could provide. No, even that was too close to Erik, too near the rage she could feel in the house. Giving no consideration to his feelings, as he had ignored her own, she threw open the front door and escaped into the dark catacombs by the lake. Aggressive, dissonant chords chased her heels, bouncing off the natural cave walls and creating a hideous cacophony of harsh sound. She winced with every abused note.

Her breath came out in shallow gasps, but she did not cease her steps. Her tiny slippers pounded against stone with only whispers of sound to give evidence of her presence. But the hiss of the lake's small waves and the echoes of the labyrinth seemed to drown out her footfalls.

With each stride she took, a different image flashed in her mind. His face. Oh god! The strange features consumed her focus. A brilliantly hued green-blue eye sunken in the pit of a socket, staring at her with such malice, she shivered to recall it. Two holes in lieu of a nose rested between his brow and mouth. Mismatched colors of thin skin pulled taut across a grossly pronounced cheekbone, outlining the bone in such detail, it was as though no skin even hid it. Pale lips turned down in a vicious sneer, but the arch of the upper swelled and rose unnaturally. All the nuances of his face repeated over and over in her mind, and she didn't want to lose even the smallest detail.

Christine knew that face. She had known it since her first journey to his home. Once she had feared it beyond reason. But now, she found herself inexplicably wanting to touch his every scar and kiss lips that were so very different from her own. The realization that she did not fear such features astonished her, but she could not yet be grateful, for she had not run away from his distortions. She ran from his fury and the doubt that never ceased to force her from him. Ugly, the term only applied when anger twisted his expression into a horror to behold. The dangerous light in his eyes still haunted her and made her steps even quicker.

Her gown must be shrinking, for she would swear the bow was constricting around her waist making breathing almost painful. Drops of moisture rolled down her cheeks, but she knew not whether they were perspiration or tears. The tunnels and stairways that led to other corridors and levels in the cellars were too risky to traverse, his traps and alerts were scattered throughout them all. Instead she followed the shore of the lake, outlining its eerie glowing surface with her path. Shadows crossed in every direction and Christine fought the desire to return to his home. No, her fear of darkness was beaten by her fear of his rage. She took courage from the strange, green, iridescent light that emanated from the lake and cast a soft illumination upon the harsh rocky points of the caves.

Courage. If only she had more of that in her. She had tried, tried so hard to be brave and tell him of her feelings. But no, even bravery was not enough for him. Christine wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Honesty, conviction, truth. She had given him everything he had asked for and the frustrating man rewarded her with anger and disbelief. She needed to get away from him to prevent infuriating him further and allowing herself to be abused more.

She looked back at the house sadly. As she paused she felt sharp pain stabbing the soles of her feet. Cringing delicately, she lifted the hem of her gown and gasped softly at the redness seeping from the torn shreds of fabric that remained of her slippers. In her haste, the jagged rocky shore had cut into her feet. Suddenly feeling the exhaustion from her run, she walked carefully over to the wall of the cave and slid down, pulling her knees up and tearing away her ruined slippers. The ache in her feet was more irritating than painful. Ballet had made her feet and legs accustomed to bruises, scrapes, cuts, and sprains. Quickly, she tore strips from her petticoat and wrapped them around her soles, tying them off securely.

Her head whipped around with a start. The echoes of harsh music had ceased and her terror returned. Determinedly, Christine stood, and began to flee anew.

* * *

Erik watched her escape and tried to ignore how greatly it hurt to see her go. He could feel his anger pulsing, threatening to push him over the edge of sanity. He sent her away, not only to punish her for her lies, but to protect her from himself. He danced too near the line of madness to tempt fate.

Damn her! His corded hands fisted and clenched. Why could she not tempt him so? Desperately he had desired to believe her claim, that her music, true music, had always been his and his alone. But that lovely illusion had broken the moment she attempted to argue the irrelevance of his scars. How could she pretend that they meant nothing?

He stalked over to his piano and pounded his hands into chords that made him grimace in disgust. He thought bleakly that his expression surely matched the one Christine had displayed when he had removed his mask. The realization alone made even darker, more violent pitches ring throughout his home. Oh why had he allowed his temper to get the better of him? No matter what she did to him, Christine did not deserve the nightmare he lived with every day.

But, he would be dishonest if he did not admit that her words had given him the smallest thread of hope. His face didn't matter, _no one_ had ever given voice to such an impossible idea and hearing it from her own lips had been astonishing. He hoped perhaps it could've been true. Yet, hope was the most dangerous emotion. It never led to good, not in his experience. So, instead of being prudent and indulging such a sweet claim, he had forced her to regret ever mentioning his scars.

His fingers slammed into the ivory keys, playing out his own anguish and self-hatred. When Christine had finally trusted him again, he ruined it. The last time he had horrified her and he knew she must be terrified of him once more. And why not? He had acted like a monster, she should be afraid. The very thought of her trembling afraid because of him made his hands suddenly still upon the keys. Erik hung his head in unrestrained shame. What had he done!

Rising quickly from the bench, he left his music room, hurrying down the hall to find Christine. He would beg and grovel on his knees if he must; anything to make her forgive him for showing his face. The door to her room stood ajar. He took it as an inviting sign. Surely if she was truly abhorred by him she would have barricaded herself within the safety of her room.

"Christine," he knocked gently before stepping slowly inside the door. "Christine, I-," his sentence cut off abruptly. Her room was empty.

Striding out, he went to the sitting room. It too lacked her presence. Trying to rationalize the horrid sinking feeling in his stomach, he walked calmly to the dining room, then the library.

Then he gave up, his calm façade shattering.

Sprinting from one room to the next, he shouted frantically. "Christine! Christine?" No, she wouldn't. How could she? He winced behind his mask and his heart hammered in fear. "Oh god, please no!" Frozen in the hallway, he ran shaking fingers through his hair. Frigid air hit the back of his neck. Spinning around, he saw the crack in his front door. His breath stopped in anguish. The catacombs, how could she be so foolish? His mind pictured all the grisly traps scattered throughout the dark passageways. She could escape none of them unharmed. If she was hurt it would be his fault entirely.

He would not allow that to happen.

Erik burst through the door and into the shadowy darkness, searching with eyes and ears for her. But there was no trace to betray her flight. In long strides, he surveyed the passageways nearest his home, but he felt certain she would not easily enter them. The lake had always been his main way of coming and going, but the boat still rested on the banks.

As he was about to abandon the shore, the tiniest point of color caught his alert eyes. Stooping low, he picked up the shred of fabric clinging to the jagged rocks. The pale piece of velvet was discolored at the frayed edges. Erik nearly dropped it when he realized the tips were soaked in blood. Pain attacked him mercilessly. Christine would rather traverse the trap riddled darkness and cut herself to pieces than stay with him. Whether she wanted him or not, he would not let her wander alone into fates worse than the scrapes she had already acquired.

Following her tiny, red spotted prints and the tattered remnants of her slippers, he chased his fleeing angel through the catacombs, all the while praying he wasn't too late. Fear made him run, faster than he ever had before. Nothing mattered until he saw her safe and back where she belonged. With him.

His mind was consumed by horrible images of her getting caught in his traps, or worse. Had he ever been so afraid? He pursued her scarlet prints, a stalking shadow in the darkness.

Finally he glimpsed her pale shape fleeing ahead of him and heard her panting breaths bounce off the walls. Still he could not trust even that. Soundlessly, he closed the gap between them, and pulled her off her feet into his arms.

"No!" Christine cried angrily, pushing tiny palms against his chest. "Put me down!"

Erik let her struggle, enduring every blow and cry. Breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling the heat of her skin against him brought a sense of profound relief. He held her tightly against him, enduring the sobs that shook her small frame as she fought him.

"Let me go, Erik!"

"Never," he answered adamantly, turning back the way they had come. "Christine, please stop fighting me, you're going to hurt yourself."

"I do not care," she yelled back, angered more by his cool demeanor, unaware of the emotions he hid. With a burst of stubborn strength, she jerked out of his hold, falling gracelessly to the stone pebbled shore. His hands extended to grab for her again, but she held up defensive palms. "Don't touch me," Christine ordered icily.

Erik recoiled as though her words had struck him, disguising how greatly the rejection hurt. "Stop this nonsensical resistance. Your feet are bleeding and I am taking you back to the house immediately to take care of you."

"I'm not going back," she stated, standing up with as much dignity as she could muster in her ripped dress. She struggled to hide the wince when her soles protested bearing her weight.

"Why not?" Erik asked his voice unusually quiet.

Christine shook her head in frustration. Still he acted as though nothing was amiss, as though the scene in the music room had never happened. "I have stayed with you these past days and never once have I questioned the answers you have given me. I have tried so hard to do as you have asked, to feel, to learn, to be brave. But you," she accused sharply, "you ignore my own admissions and call them lies. What is the point of giving you my trust if you will not have faith in me in return? Why won't you believe me, Erik?"

"What you ask of me to believe is impossible," he answered emotionlessly. "You proved so yourself, when you once again fled the horror of my face." His lower lip, barely visible at the edge of his mask, pulled into a frown.

"You _demanded_ me to leave," Christine reminded.

"Yes, and instead of returning to your chambers you fled into the godforsaken catacombs. Please do convince me that this was only an evening stroll and that you were not running for fear," his eyes narrowed in challenge and venomous sarcasm leaked into his words.

"I was afraid," she admitted. "But not of your face. Your anger is what drives me away from you. And that no matter what I do or say, it will _never_ be enough for you. I could put my heart and its secrets into your hands and still you would not believe me. I let myself feel again and it isn't worth it," she cried, her voice hoarse but passionate. "It is not worth the brief moments of happiness if we are only destined to hurt one another." She crossed her arms across her abdomen, as though she could comfort herself. Christine whispered in a broken voice, "Either you must give me the chance to prove myself to be telling the truth, or you can take me back up."

"And how do you propose to demonstrate the validity of your claim?" Erik stepped closer to her, wanting desperately to have her back safely in his arms.

"However I must." The fervency she spoke with unnerved him. Christine meant it. He could see the determination in her shadowed blue eyes. If he did not agree, he would lose her and perhaps never get another chance. Erik had never been on the receiving end of ultimatums. The helpless feeling that accompanied it shook him.

But how was he ever to truly accept that she did not fear his twisted face? It seemed impossible.

Yet… Erik immediately tried to suppress the perverse thought that crossed his mind. But once it surfaced he could not ignore it. There was one sure way he could see if she was disgusted or frightened by his scars. With boldness he did not feel, Erik bid, "Fine. Want to prove yourself, my dear?" He asked his question in dark pitches, as though already attempting to scare her away. Rejecting him now would hurt less than when he asked her his method of proof. "Let me see this new found bravery tested." Deliberately slow, he unbuckled the strap of his mask, pulling it away with taut hands that fought not to shake. "Please do prove your conviction. I ask only one simple task. Touch my scars without fear or disgust, then perhaps, I will consider trusting your words."

Vulnerable. That is how Erik felt as Christine stared curiously at his exposed distortion. With his mask on he was invincible, the god-like Opera Ghost who always held control. But without the protection of his mask, weaknesses and emotions could be seen and manipulated. And Christine could see them all.

As she inched closer, he analyzed every flash or hint of emotion that crossed her pretty face. Curiosity and fascination reigned supreme over her countenance, but despite his best efforts, Erik had yet to glimpse anything akin to fear.

When only a breath of space separated them, Christine lifted a creamy hand and gently touched the original lines of his prominent cheek. She heard him gasp, but did not pull away. Marveling over the soft, yet irregular texture of his cold, pale skin, she explored the features of his scarred face with feather light caresses. Carefully, she fitted her palm to his entire cheek, holding his distortion adoringly in her hand. His burning green-blue eyes flickered rapidly, as though if he searched her expression thoroughly enough, he could force fear and doubts to appear. She determined to give him no such emotions. With every tiny movement of her fingers, she felt Erik fight not to flinch away. His startling eyes snapped shut and his breaths became ragged. He seemed to be waiting for her to cause him pain.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Christine whispered. She wanted him to respond, to break his rigid control that kept him so distant. But then his eyes slowly opened, the blue and green in them gleaming through unshed tears.

"Not yet," he murmured. The response sounded so absolute, so definite, it made something within Christine break. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his tall frame and clutched him close, as though if she pressed their hearts together she could keep them from falling to pieces. Even still he stood completely immobile, refusing to return the gesture. Unwilling to give up, she pushed her bravery to its limits.

Erik could not remember ever experiencing such bliss as the touch of Christine's soft hands against his scars. No one had ever been so gentle. His sensitive, abused skin thrilled with shocks and waves beneath her healing caress. Pleasure he had never known coursed through him. He knew not whether to curse or thank her for the gift. So he remained determinedly still, trying not to weep at how sweet she was being with him. Oh god! Erik had never been given such sympathy, such tenderness. And even through clouded eyes that glanced through the foggy lenses of desire and despair, he could see the beautiful compassion that had possessed her features as she touched him. Not terror, not aversion, not even reluctance. Just that strange emotion of mercy that was so very foreign to him.

She claimed she would not hurt him. Erik could not help but argue that sentiment. Physically, Christine could never deal out anything he had not already endured. But, emotionally, she held the power to obliterate him. Should she ever flee, she would do exactly that.

Erik did not know how to respond to her astonishing embrace. He feared touching her. His touch was poison, it left behind naught but destruction. Also, if he were to reciprocate, she would realize just how completely she had affected him. Yet he wanted to show her how thankful he was for the blessings she bestowed that he did not deserve. When Christine's small hand returned to his mangled cheek as she pressed against him, Erik marveled at her willingness to touch him. But then, she moved her hand to the nape of his neck, pulling his face toward her. He knew he should resist, but he could not.

When he felt her curls tickle his chin, Erik almost pulled away. Desperate to understand her intentions, he gazed into her blue eyes, so big and honest, so close. They were nearly eye level with him leaning down and her standing at her full height. Before he could ask or protest, Christine stood up on her toes and pressed her face to his.

It was not a kiss. But never had an act been so entirely intimate as her perfect cheek pressed against his scars. Erik's façade of control broke and he his hands clutched her frantically to him, the one clutching his mask entwined around her tiny waist, the other ran through her curls to keep her close. Her every breath echoed in his ears and her heart beat wildly against his own. Never had he experienced anything so exquisite.

Quietly, breathlessly Christine asked, "Do you believe me, Erik?"

In husky tones, he answered, "Yes."

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**Much love,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	11. A Melody of Temptation

**Dear Readers,**

**I am so very sorry for the lateness of this update, my life has been chaos and the delay was unavoidable. I am going to be quite honest. The two week deadline I set for myself will have to be revoked. This summer I will be balancing college, a job, and a show that requires three afternoons out of every week. I truly hope that you wonderful readers will be okay with this and remain understanding and supportive as ya'll have been throughout this story. I will post as soon as I'm able at every update and some may be in the two weeks I've set. I just can no longer make that a guarantee. THIS IS NOT A HIATUS! I cannot stress that enough. I will continue to write as always, updates just might take a little longer.**

**I've posted this without even updating reviews because I didn't want you all to wait any longer. I will post the personal responses by tomorrow afternoon or earlier.**

**Thank you and much love!**

**Special thanks to Starcrier, my ever patient and encouraging beta. You're amazing darling!**

* * *

Impossible. The word resounded stubbornly in Erik's mind as Christine embraced him, her delicate cheek pressed firmly to his. In all of his days he never would have expected such a miracle. She touched his scars, not only with fingertips and palms but with her own lovely face and not a single trace of fear or disgust distorted her features. Her small hands encircled his neck and Erik felt _wanted_.

Not in the romantic sense, perhaps. But with her arms holding him tightly, as though being entwined with him was a necessity, Erik could not deny that his darling Christine desired to be in his arms. And with that thought, again the word "impossible" filled his mind. Pushing against what sense argued, Erik clung to her tiny frame, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her even closer.

Her heart thrummed against his chest and Erik's skin thrilled with its steady beat. He had never shared such an intimate pose with anyone and every sensation left him trembling from the pleasure, the intimacy of it. He never wanted the moment to cease.

But Christine's eyes suddenly squinted. He could feel the fluttering lashes of her eyes against his skin. Fearing that she finally reacted in terror, Erik pulled back and looked into her face, hoping he was wrong. She winced, her pink lips pulling into a frown. But her expression was not one of fear, it was one of pain.

Suddenly recalling their situation, Erik did not hesitate as he lifted her into his arms, relieving her injured feet. She relaxed against him and even offered a tremulous smile of thanks.

"I'm sorry," Christine offered sadly, as though she too regretted the return of reality. He shook his head with a smirk. She _would_ apologize for her injuries.

"No," he answered seriously. "I'm sorry. I should never have lost my temper. We could have avoided all of this if I had not behaved so abominably."

Reaching up, she gently brushed his still exposed cheek. "It was worth it." Erik almost missed a step as he walked back towards the house.

The rest of the trip passed in a peaceful silence. The door to Erik's house still stood ajar, inviting light beckoning them back into the sanctuary from the cold, darkness of the catacombs.

He crossed the threshold and sat Christine in his throne-like chair before the hearth. Noticing her shivering limbs, he stoked the fire before leaving to collect what he needed to wash and bandage her damaged feet.

* * *

Christine watched him depart with a sense of awe…and disappointment. The moment he released her she longed for the security of his arms. He believed her. She could not help but second guess it, but he had sounded so sincere, his angel's voice breathing into her ear and making tingles rush down her spine. His distorted face against her skin had felt almost magical. But the fear and surprise Erik had shown hurt her. He had never known someone to look at his scars without horror. Christine could not imagine how painful that must have made his life. It made her realize how ignorant she had been. The first time she stole his mask away, she had shrieked in terror, caring not what sorrow she inflicted upon him with her reaction. But his face… it had been constructed differently than most it was true. But God had made it with skin, bones, muscle, and the ability to _feel_ just as every other creation. She smiled thinking He had simply put a little more originality into the creation. A face, only a face.

As Erik walked back to his awaiting Christine, he carefully replaced his mask, for control if nothing else. Being so exposed unnerved him. He never willingly displayed his face and doing so still felt wrong and degrading. She sat before the fire, a small grin lighting her expression as though she enjoyed some secret jest. Looking up at his entrance, her smile disappeared when she glimpsed his mask, but she mercifully made no comment, yet her eyes questioned him all the same.

"I am not accustomed to traipsing about without my mask," Erik informed her gently. "Despite the relief of freedom, it will take…some getting used to." Christine nodded mutely, but her serene smile returned.

Gently, he fingered the hem of her gown, lifting it slightly he asked awkwardly, "May I?"

A blush betrayed her nervousness as she replied shakily, "Yes."

Slowly, he slid the fabric up her legs to reveal her cut feet and ankles. The white creamy skin beneath his fingertips threatened to undo him. But on sight of her wounds, Erik pushed away the distraction. He could not help but admire her resourcefulness at the makeshift bandages binding her soles. A frown creased his features despite when he realized the blood had already soaked completely through them. "This may hurt," he warned as he began to untie the strips wrapped around her feet. "I'm sorry."

"I'll be alright," Christine assured him quickly. Mentally she chastised herself for her careless flight that ended in unnecessary injury. Yet, as she had stated earlier, it was well worth it.

The fabric stuck to her cuts and she cringed as Erik pulled it away. He clenched his teeth to control his anger when he glimpsed the destruction he had created upon otherwise flawless skin. Deep cuts and gashes crisscrossed her delicate feet, dark red blood still ran out of them. Each drop felt like an accusation.

"I need to probe the cuts for any rocks. Try to hold still and I'll finish as quickly as I can. It will be painful, but you need to trust me, alright?"

Christine nodded and braced herself for the pain, but even still her eyes watered when she felt the sharp sting in her feet. She bit her lip, determined not to make Erik feel guilty any more than she had to. Her toes curled and she whimpered, but she did not cry.

His hands were covered in her blood, the warm liquid staining his fingers from the examination. The cuts were clear of debris, but deep. He knew she must be in more discomfort than she showed. Wanting to put her at ease, he grabbed a cloth and began to clean the wounds. Tenderly, he washed away the blood, clearing away evidence of her pain. If only the cuts themselves were as easy to erase.

When he opened the bottle of medicinal alcohol, he saw her expression turn into one of dread. Erik's logical mind argued that she had endured far worse, yet he didn't want to displease her by laughing at her silliness. "I know it isn't pleasant, but I need to disinfect the cuts." When he made to dab at her foot she jerked away, her feet vanishing back under her skirts.

Erik looked up in part amusement and part annoyance. Christine met his stare with wide, guilty eyes. She broke into a smile, "I know I am being ridiculous, but I've always hated alcohol. It burns."

"Yes, I'm aware. But I am not about to risk you getting an infection from a lack of care on my part. So if you would be so kind as to _hold still_, I would be most grateful."

Christine pouted in mock contrition, poking her toes back out from under her skirts.

Finally, her tiny feet were wrapped in crisp white linen. With a final lingering touch to her ankle, he released her soles and watched them disappear yet again behind the fall of fabric. How he envied those skirts. They caressed her skin as he could not.

He left to put away the bandages and clean up his hands. When he returned, Christine pinned him with those hypnotic sapphire eyes.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Would you please come here?"

Thinking she may need assistance moving to her room or somewhere more comfortable, he moved closer until he stood beside the chair. She was curled into a tiny ball, her knees drawn up to her chest with her arms crossed around them. But when he approached, she leaned up onto her knees. Slowly, she lifted pale hand and set it against his mask.

"Please?"

There was such pleading in that word that he nodded reluctantly. Smiling, she pulled the mask away, revealing his face again. He reflexively searched for fear and disdain but found none in her sweet grin.

"Would you leave it off this time? I want to see your face, Erik. Don't hide from me."

"I assure you, it isn't so much hiding as it is habit," he explained quickly. "Exposing my scars is…," he broke off for she chose that moment to lay the back of her hand against his cheek. He suppressed a shiver as it brushed against his skin. "Unnerving," he finished in a whisper. "But I shall leave it off for this evening, if that is what you wish."

She nodded her head enthusiastically. "Forgive me, but may I ask another favor?"

"Of course."

"Will you play for me? I know you've already done so much but-," she was interrupted as he suddenly scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She laughed and the sound echoed beautifully in his ears. Such a simple expression of joy, but it meant so much when they had known only pain in their most recent time together. The light hearted sound made his lips tilt into a smile.

He carried her into the music room, sitting her carefully on the love-seat Thinking only of pleasing her, he went to his piano and began to play. The song was beautiful, but not overly done. He thought it a melody she might find pleasing. But he struggled as he played. Normally music was an outlet for him, a type of expression to channel his often tumultuous emotions into. With the tension he felt between them it was difficult to restrain his need to release his feelings upon the instrument. There were so many thoughts in his head, using music to sort through them would be a mercy. Yet, he suppressed the guilt, the elation,… the desire and instead created a comforting tune he believed she would find less disconcerting.

That was what bothered him most. Should he compose what he felt, she would be able to recognize the messages woven into the notes and chords. Erik was uncertain whether or not he was ready to share such things at the present. But she had requested him to play _for her_. So he did just that, drifting from one soothing gentle tune to the next.

Christine watched him curiously, Erik's expression was bared to her without the mask and as she watched his fingers glide across the keys, she could not help but think that something was amiss. The night his music had pulled her from dreams, she had witnessed him perform with almost reckless abandon, surrendering himself to his music. As she looked at him now, Erik seemed to be holding back, restraining himself somehow. Perhaps he did not realize that she did not want him to play for her amusement. She wanted to hear his soul poured out into notes as she had before. His music became brilliant when he chose to feel through it.

She could not, of course, argue that his current piece wasn't lovely. It was simply…empty, devoid of any true sentiment. Usually his compositions were filled with his passionate, intense emotions. It felt wrong after all that had transpired. She wanted something more from him. Something that showed that he had been affected as much as she had.

"Erik, I'm curious," she ventured gently.

"Imagine that," he quipped back while the music continued.

Chuckling despite herself, she attempted to remain serious. "Is there something bothering you?"

The music ceased immediately. He flipped about on the bench to look at her. "What makes you ask such a thing? You are back in my home, safe and sound and gazing at me with those eyes as though I were normal. What could I possibly be bothered about?" He didn't seem angry, just puzzled. Almost defensive. She found that so odd it made it impossible for her not to continue.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "I simply thought your song was different than the last time you played. Do not misunderstand," she added hastily, "it sounded glorious. Only, that isn't what you are feeling… is it?" She watched his eyes search her, he betrayed not even a flicker of emotion on his own countenance. Despite being on display, his scars showed nothing. Oh, what if she had insulted him or said the wrong thing? Christine felt suddenly shy, nervous that she had displeased him.

"And how would you know what I am feeling?" he questioned softly.

"I don't. But, I would like to."

Erik felt shock at such a bold invitation from her. Normally Christine kept herself distant from too many potent emotions, especially where he was concerned. He had learned that his devotion and passion often made her uncomfortable for she could not return the sentiments with the same fervor. Yet now she invited him to reveal everything to her. It was such a dangerous, tempting possibility.

"Are you sure the very thing you ask for will not frighten you?" She was being frank, he might as well follow suit.

"It might," Christine stammered cautiously, her eyes fluttering prettily as they looked away. "But…," she paused as though debating whether or not to confide in him. "I want to hear anyways," she whispered, a blush blossoming in her cheeks.

Erik thought for a moment. If he decided to show her his pent up frustrations, joys, and fears, she would be hearing the essence of his being. Frightening as it was, it appealed as well. "Very well. But if I play for you Christine, you must listen to it all. No matter what you hear or perceive, you cannot simply demand me to stop, for I cannot guarantee that I will have the power to do so. Music to me is consuming. I'm attempting to be honest, if you have changed your mind, it shall not hurt me."

"No!" she protested immediately. "I'll listen to it all."

Erik's brow drew down. "Very well." He turned back to the ivory keys, his fingers finding chords without a thought. It was difficult to do as she asked. How was he to play without her presence influencing every note? But as he continued to strike pitches, he lost himself within the song. At first the notes were deep, almost haunting in their bass resonance. But then a cascade of dissonance interrupted and destroyed the serenity. Violence, it was as though a battle was being fought within the composition as octaves warred with each other for dominance. Unforgettable images kept fueling the rage, the hurt. Christine's tears, her disappearance, finally Erik could reflect upon them all and display the torture it had been to question whether or not he would see her again.

Christine obediently began to listen to his music. She had not expected such a dark beginning. The lines seemed to engulf her in fear, suspicion, and pain. It hurt to listen. But she did not flee. Enduring every harsh phrase, Christine watched as his scars twisted into an expression of guilt, of fury, of despair. She longed to reach out to him, to comfort him. But just as she thought to go to him, the song transformed. What had been rough and brutal morphed into graceful gentle rhythms.

Happiness. Rarely did such an emotion appear in his creations, but she heard it. Relief and joy combining into a sweet melody of contentment. A small, almost tentative smile curved his misshapen lips. She thought the sight a beautiful one.

Throughout his performance, Erik never dared to look her way. He knew simply the sight of her could spark dozens of reactions. The music had carried him from memory to memory, feeling to feeling. But as he reveled in the elation of having his Christine back, Erik realized there was one impulse he had yet to explore. It surprised him a bit, that he had yet to give into its influence. Perhaps his mind had been afraid to indulge such a forbidden thought for fear it would unnerve Christine. Yet, suddenly, he wanted to unnerve her, to make her aware of what he had been tormented by.

Seeking her image, he turned his head to find her stretched out upon the love-seat her delicate legs peeking out from her skirts. Her blue eyes were wide and her lips were parted. It was more than enough.

Confusion clouded her thoughts as Erik seemed to debate himself within his playing. His elegant hands struck what seemed to be random pitches and chords as though searching for an answer. Then he turned to look at her, piercing blue-green eyes taking her in. His glance lasted only moments, then he appeared to return to the music.

Legato, warm tones caressed her from across the room. It beckoned her, inviting her closer and drawing her in. Then, it changed. Warmth became feverish and demanding and Christine blushed without knowing why. The music pulsed and swirled, mesmerizing her. As the sound rose, she started to feel afraid. But not of the song, of her response. Without warning, the image of Erik kissing her wrist filled her mind, taunting her. She gasped for the sensation was so potent it was as though his lips caressed her still. Desire overwhelmed her as she surrendered to the music. The complex song made her shiver as erotic pitches drove her mad. She wanted more, so much more. She wanted him.

Rising on unsteady limbs, Christine crossed to him. Her feet protested, but pain felt so unimportant. Somewhere in her mind, she knew what she intended was dangerous. But for once danger thrilled instead of frightened. The sounds swelled as she approached and she trembled to listen. Finally she stood behind him, following the movement of his body with glossy eyes. Boldly, her hands fitted to his shoulders. She could feel his skin beneath his dress shirt. Usually cold to the touch, it burned beneath her fingertips. Her foggy mind hardly heard his gasp, but she did hear the sudden cease of the keys. Without a pause, Erik stood and pushed the bench aside, his movements almost violent with their intensity. His large hands fitted to her waist, pulling her roughly into his firm chest. His eyes were bright and filled with need, his gaze traveling over her with desperation. Breathing in rapid gasps, one of his elegant hands cupped her cheek and Christine knew a second of elation as he pulled her face to his.

Their lips were but inches apart when she whispered, "Please."

But then his eyes flickered. His hands jerked away and he backed up, shaking his head as though to clear it. "Not like this," she heard him murmur, but she knew it wasn't to her he spoke. Erik's gaze met hers uncertainly.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said. "Forgive me, that was most inappropriate. It has grown late. I would say it is past time to retire for the evening."

Tentatively, he crossed to her. When she did not back away, he lifted her off her feet. As Erik carried her to bed, Christine felt disappointed at how distant he acted. He sat her upon the mattress and walked away quickly. But as he closed the door, she believed she saw regret flash across his face.

If only he knew what she felt in return.

* * *

**I am going to go ahead and apologize for this cliffy. If it makes you feel better I didn't do it on purpose. It just sort of happened.**

**Please review if you enjoyed this or have any suggestions. I love hearing from all of you.**

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	12. Stronger

**Erik: Dear readers, **

**The authoress bo-leigh bella has pleaded for me to beseech forgiveness on her behalf. She wants to apologize sincerely for the horrid lateness of this update. She never meant for her writing to become so slow or to leave anyone disappointed. She bids me tell you that you are the...**

**Oh really must I say this sentimental nonsense!?**

**Christine: Erik, be kind. Mlle. bella has written stories in our honor. The very least we can do is help her this once.**

**Erik: (Sigh) Oh very well. My dear, really it is not fair of you to use that look on me.**

**She would have me say you are the greatest friends, most wonderful readers, and kindest reviewers she could ever hope for. Her days are brightened by your sweet words and constant support. **

**Your most obedient servant,**

**O.G.**

_**A/N So if Erik didn't convince you, I do not know what will. But sorry for the lateness. Please read and review and I hope you enjoy. As ever, the responses to all of the wonderful reviews last chapter can be found on my profile. I adored them all! They mean the world to me.**_

* * *

Foolish! Dangerous!

Amazing. . .

Erik sat alone in his room with a quickly dwindling glass of strong brandy to calm his nerves. Not normally one to indulge in spirits, he used it to help him relax enough to think over the unexpected events that had occurred only moments before in the music room.

What idiotic hopefulness had convinced him to play such a terrible game with Christine? Erik could not say. Yet, it was no game. The desire that had come alive in the music had been more real, more tangible than anything he had ever experienced before and he had been victim to many an attack of lust. But that song, that urge had burned into a frantic frenzy of need and hunger. Instead of influencing Christine he had found himself manipulated by her mere presence.

But then she had touched him! Amid what should have been a frightening display of raw, unrestrained wanting, she had dared to approach and actually touch him. Her small hands fitting to his shoulders had been his undoing. Like a drug, he could not be content with just a taste of Christine's caress. Still consumed with the erotic pitches swirling through his mind, Erik had turned with the absolute intent of ravishing her. His sight was tinted red and nothing seemed to matter but her. Right as her body had burned against his own, she had murmured feverishly, "Please." One word from a voice that barely seemed to belong to her had broken the spell.

Still Erik could hardly believe he had been so close to such an unforgivable crime. He was no fool, no simple-minded idiot to blind himself from unpleasant truth. His music truly reigned as his most terrible and effective weapon. Be it the creations of instruments or the overpowering tenor of his voice, Erik had always possessed almost god-like control over others when using his music. Many times throughout his life, he had used its strange effect on others to his advantage. And yes, he had before employed his golden tone to calm and gain the trust of Christine. But he never intended such a sin as what he almost committed. The song had been equally effective on him, but that was no excuse. Surrendering to his desire for her in the safety of music hadn't been safe at all.

Through his passion clouded eyes he had seen a great many things, only now could he analyze them clearly. Her blue eyes had been feverish, wild almost with dilated pupils that betrayed her wanting. Her heart had hammered against his chest as she leaned into his embrace. Her delicate pink lips had parted, expectant and waiting for a kiss he _knew_ he could have taken. Taken and _stolen_. Under the power of his intoxicating music, she had desired him. But that artificial surrender had only been another horrid manipulation on his part. So he had talked himself out of taking her even as his body begged for it. "Not like this," he could remember whispering the phrase. Impossible as the idea was, Erik wanted Christine to desire him of her own free will, not force her into it with his damnable, addicting music. Perhaps she appeared to do so, but he couldn't trust those strange moments. God only knew how terrified she must be, sitting alone and vulnerable in her room, aware that a monster prowled only a few steps down the hallway. Now away from his hypnotic tune, she most likely feared him for the melody's horrible power over her innocent mind.

That was what he had done, damaged her innocence because of his own sinful frustrations.

Yet, one thought continued to confuse him. After the music stopped, why had she not been afraid?

He shook his head and knocked back the last of the amber liquid. Some thoughts were better left unexplored.

* * *

Christine could hear the mahogany clock by her bedside ticking away the hours. Her lamp still flickered for turning out the light would have been an absolute waste of time. Normally an easy sleeper, she found rest impossible. So she had tossed and turned upon her large plush bed, watching the hands of her clock spin round.

She felt utterly exhausted, her eyes blinked lazily, yet she could not find the peace to attempt slumber. Troubling thoughts chased each other in her mind.

Almost. Erik had been so close, his eyes full of fire, and he had _almost_ kissed her. Christine still felt partially unnerved at how greatly she had been disappointed when he had not. She had wanted that kiss and still did. She always thought of herself as a good, well-mannered young woman. How was it then that all she could think on was the embrace of Erik? Erik, not the man everyone believed her to love. Not poor, abandoned Raoul. No. Much to her shame, Christine had hardly thought of her suitor in the world above. Instead, she obsessed over the fickle affections of her teacher.

He had seemed so angry when he took her to bed. She couldn't understand why. Was he upset with her? Had she done something wrong? Christine did not think so, but how could she know for certain?

"_Not like this_," he had said, his normally golden voice rough and thick.

What did that mean? Christine had always fostered a belief that Erik had feelings for her, but what if she was wrong. Really it made her appear quite conceited to assume such a thing. If he did, wouldn't he have taken the chance when she was in his arms?

Perhaps "not like this" meant not with her. Maybe his passion had only been a result of the music that always appeared to consume him.

But then, why was his expression filled with regret and sadness when he left? The price of almost solitude weighed heavy on her. She wished fervently for Meg or Madame Giry to confide in. How was she to discuss such topics with the source of her worries? Yet, speaking of her troubles seemed almost laughably impossible, mad even. She would never put Erik in such danger as revealing his existence to anyone.

Still, the worry and hurt and confusion would be a relief to confess. She felt so very alone.

* * *

Raoul watched yet another performance at the opera, still hoping against all odds that Christine would return as suddenly as she had vanished. But, as had been the norm, the stage lacked her presence. He should not have been disappointed. The managers constantly assured him that if she came back, he would be the first person they would notify. Still, he was thoroughly disheartened.

Surely he should have heard something by now! Perhaps a report from this suspicious teacher. Or, heaven forbid, a short missive from Christine assuring him of her wellbeing and happiness. But no, aside from the first note he received from Christine, there had been no correspondence.

Raoul worried about her non-stop, constantly afraid that this teacher was manipulating her or using their lessons to try to gain her affections. What man in his right mind wouldn't be enchanted by her? Beautiful and innocent, she was the very portrait of love.

But she belonged to him! Or, she would the moment she returned to him. He fully intended to ask her to be his wife. Why court her as custom deemed appropriate when he already knew they were a perfect match? Raoul desired the entire world to know that he loved her and claimed her irrevocably as his. That way no admirers…or teachers, could attempt to steal her away from him.

How he missed her! Christine's smiles and charming wit had filled his days before her absence. Now he had little to occupy the void she had left behind.

But she would return.

Yes, she must return.

* * *

Morning found Christine nervously pacing the length of her room, back and forth, back and forth. Her bandaged feet throbbed, but the pain was not enough to still her.

Usually Erik rose well before she did, but the door to his room remained shut and she hadn't the nerve to disturb him. Although she knew she could depart any moment she wished, Christine felt very confined within the walls of Erik's home. It had been over a week since she had seen natural light or felt the crisp air of the season. Normally her teacher provided ample distraction from such thoughts but his absence allowed her mind to wander.

Back and forth, back and forth, her pace grew ever more hurried as her agitation grew.

The very air around her seemed to suffocate her within her own horrid discomfort. Christine had never been one to give in to the temptations of the flesh. She had always been able to keep Raoul's romantic advances from overwhelming her. Yet her mind was filled longing and the more she sought to escape it, the more it seemed to consume her.

Back and forth, then she strode to her door, continuing down the hall until she sat in the kitchen. Nibbling on an apple, she tried to sort through her tumultuous feelings. Her affection for Erik seemed to be intensifying every day and the more she thought of it, the worse her situation appeared to her. Excuses, she had always used them to justify her time spent with him, but now that was a horrid injustice to him, made worse by the realization that he had readily given her one in order to convince her to stay. Was she truly so weak in her character that she could not even make decisions without some justification? It disgusted her. Though her days spent with Erik had not been easy, each one had been eye-opening and altering to her. It was odd to think that mere days ago she had blamed him as a heartless murderer and cursed him for leaving her. He had been strong enough to teach and guide her and yet asked for so very little in return.

Perhaps it was time for her to be strong as well.

* * *

Erik woke with a start. One look at the clock and he realized he had been abed for far too long. Rising quickly, he dressed and went in search of Christine.

He quickly found her seated at the dining room table, an oddly pensive look on her face.

"Good morning," he bid gently, feeling considerably uncomfortable after the events of the previous evening.

"Oh, you're awake. Did you sleep well?" she asked with a smile. He found the sweet expression to be strange after everything that had happened the night before.

"Christine?" She raised her delicate brows expectantly. "I-please do forgive me," he entreated hastily. "Last night was a horrid mistake and I never should have treated you in such an inappropriate manner. I should have known-"

"Erik," she interrupted quietly. "I'm not angry with you, nor do you have any reason to ask forgiveness. For now, let us just not speak of it, please?" As she said this, she looked away from him. Whether it was shyness or deception, Erik wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"As you wish," he agreed. Trying to distract them both he asked, "Have you any questions this morning?"

Christine brightened then immediately resumed her pensive, almost worried expression. "Well, yes. But only one."

Despite all that had happened, panic gripped Erik. If she only had one question, perhaps it meant she wished to leave.

"Please don't be upset, Erik," her large eyes pleaded silently.

Good lord, he was right. She wanted to return to the world.

"May we go out today?" she asked softly. "Outside I mean. I miss the sun and the sky. I would dearly love to go out with you to see them again."

For a moment, he could not respond, so great was his immediate relief. She wasn't leaving. But then the unexpected question hit him. Outside. In the world. The world that despised him. Returning to the world above was not a prospect Erik relished. Inevitably, they were sure to run into other people. He hated enduring the endless suspicious stares and rude behavior of others. He frowned without realizing it.

"Please, Erik? We may go wherever you wish, so long as we are outside. Please?" she repeated the word again, breaking his arguments before he even had the chance to voice them.

"What about your lesson?" A half-hearted protest at best, yet one he believed valid. The only way to restore and surpass Christine's previous incredible abilities would be faithful, daily practice and refinement.

"We could rehearse before we depart or this evening when we return. Or perhaps you could bring along the violin or another small instrument."

Erik could not help feeling a bit of pride. Christine had obviously thought this request through. She already had counters for any objections he might have voiced. He smiled ruefully.

"Very well," he conceded finally. "But, if you would allow me to take some precautions it would make this…easier. It has been a while since I have truly left this darkness."

She nodded eagerly, but there was a sudden sadness that flashed in her eyes. Erik felt confused by that, but didn't voice his concern, afraid of where it might lead. "Go on then and get ready. Though spring is coming it is like to still be quite frigid out there. Be sure to dress warmly. It will not do for you to catch a chill from overexposure."

"I will," she promised turning away to her room. But before she disappeared down the hall she glanced back and said, "Thank you, Erik."

An hour later they were ready to depart. Christine wore a deep green woolen dress with thick petticoats to keep her warm. Erik stood ready to go at the door, an apprehensive look upon his face. He looked like a shadow personified, dressed entirely in shades of black save for the mask. Though she wore a long coat, he offered her a heavy cloak lined in velvet. She wasn't certain, but she believed it might have been one of his own.

He donned a black fedora and leather gloves quickly and picked up his violin case. Other than that, all he brought along was a blanket and a basket containing dinner in case they stayed out too long.

They traveled in silence across the underground lake and emerged at the gates of the Rue Scribe. Outside the gate waited a brilliant ebony show horse.

Christine's face lit up in sudden recognition. "Is that…?"

"Cesar? Yes, poor brute gets little enough attention from the managers of our stables. I exercise him whenever I decide to travel."

Christine laughed quietly, wondering how she failed to notice when they rode back from the cemetery.

"I hope you don't mind," he said suddenly. "Taking multiple animals is far more noticeable and I have a private exit from his stall. Bringing along another would have been more troublesome."

"No, it's alright," she assured him, wanting to laugh a bit at his nervousness. Without another word he helped her up into the saddle, then leapt up behind her. When his arms curved around her to reach the reigns, she blushed at his nearness. But then the horse trotted forward and her curiosity had her wondering where this journey would lead them.

The world had changed while Christine had been underground. The strange transformations of the seasons had already begun as winter was melting away to spring. The warm sun overhead had already won against the snow. Though chilly winds still swept about them, the dominion of winter was fading.

The rode for a long while using the back streets of the city to avoid the eyes that saw too much and mouths that questioned too quickly. Christine never commented on their course but she knew Erik was taking every precaution not to be discovered. He even took extra care to conceal his face, hiding it behind a thick scarf and angling his head so that the fedora hid all but his cheeks and chin.

They left Paris behind and rode into the country. After nearly an hour of non-stop travel, they turned into a beaten track in the woods.

And they entered the most magical place Christine had ever seen.

It was a meadow, a sweet clearing in the middle of nowhere. Green grass was beginning to reappear and even a few small blooms dotted the emerald sea. But the most breathtaking thing about this secret place was the immense cliff face that made up one side of the meadow. Rock loomed above them, reaching towards the heavens and over its top flowed a delicate waterfall. The gentle roar of the water hitting the pool below enthralled her. She had never been anywhere so majestic in its natural simplicity.

"This is one of the few places I actually enjoy in the world. I'm sorry if you expected somewhere more…public. Solitude is unfortunately an unavoidable consequence when in my company."

"No, this place is absolutely beautiful," Christine replied, whispering as though not to disturb the scene before her. "And this isn't solitude. We aren't alone," she said with a smile. "We have each other." Not giving him a moment to reply, she slid down off Cesar and ran to the center of the clearing.

Erik's shocked expression morphed to one of amusement as Christine opened her arms up to the sky as though to embrace it. She danced her way around the clearing in an alternating series of enthusiastic pique and chaine turns. She spun around herself a bit more before laughing. "Erik, do you never miss the sky and the sun?" She turned to gaze at him, still smiling.

"No, not really," he answered quickly. Before her grin could falter, he continued, "but it is worth seeing them again to see you so happy."

Her smile only widened at that. Dappled in sunlight, her cheeks glowing from her dance, she looked absolutely captivating to him. "Now, as much as I would enjoy watching you pirouette around the forest, I think it best if we attend to your lesson first." His visible brow rose, letting her know his words were a question. Usually so demanding, it was a rare gift to be given control. Erik was trying to make this day about her. For her.

"Of course."

Erik dismounted, unpacking the saddle bag and retrieving his violin case. Christine awaited eagerly, ready to perform anything he asked of her. But the second the bow ran across the strings of the instrument, she forgot her impatience. Those sweet, resonant sounds never failed to bring back the memory of her father. She hadn't realized how much she missed the sound of his favorite instrument. Erik played it occasionally, but never for lessons.

As though sensing her train of thought, he did not immediately ask her to sing. Instead, he simply performed a few gentle pieces, allowing her to appreciate what she had missed.

Their lesson went by swiftly. Erik could hardly contain his astonishment at how quickly Christine improved. It seemed that every minute her fervor and passion grew. She sang with a glorious tone and purpose filled eyes that finally began to express. Where once her sapphires were dull and lost, trapped behind walls of suspicion and disappointment, they now shimmered with feeling and determination. Although she had a long way to go before she would be on level with her former performances, her progress was unprecedented. And to look at her prideful smirk, she knew it as well.

After several hours of diligent work, Erik decided their lesson could end. With the slight chill in the air, it wouldn't be wise to allow her to sing much longer.

The afternoon found them seated underneath a large tree by the falls, resting atop a quilt. Erik sat on one edge, his back against the trunk of the tree while Christine was across from him in a puddle of skirts and petticoats.

"Have you any questions for me this evening?" he asked. "You've yet to voice any and your lack of curiosity is worrisome. Are you feeling quite well?"

She looked up quickly enough to see him quietly chuckle. Christine laughed too. His jovial mood was contagious, perhaps because it was so new to her. She could hardly remember ever being teased by Erik. But then her laughter faded to a serious expression. "No, actually, I no longer wish to ask any."

Erik could hear his heart pounding in his ears. After such a pleasant evening, he found it hard to believe what she said. "Do you…," his voice seemed to suddenly rebel against him. He found it difficult to choke out the question. "Do you wish for me to take you back?" Oh Lord, the night before _had_ terrified her. She must have only indulged him that day to make her departure less painful. It hadn't worked. In fact, Erik felt certain it would be worse.

Her brows flew upward in surprise. "What…? Oh. Oh! No, no that isn't what I meant at all."

"Then, what are you asking? You aren't making any sense, Christine." Erik heard his voice turn hard. He could not help the change. He felt deceived. But she denied wanting to leave. Only that detail kept him sane.

"I meant that I do not want these questions to be the sole reason I stay with you."

"I don't understand," he said honestly, his tone rough with agitation and worry.

"I'll stay with you, Erik. But not for more answers." Her gaze met his and gave him hope he didn't comprehend.

"Why then?" he asked, almost afraid of her answer.

"I will stay because I want to."

* * *

_**So sorry about the late update. Really my life is insane, but I have been writing, just bits and pieces at a time. I really hope you enjoyed this and please review. It really, really means the world to me.**_

_**If you want more of my characters in the mean time. Erik and Christine do have a tumblr page. I update it when I can. Their askbox is always open.**_

_**Please remember your personal responses are on my profile!**_

_**Much love to all of you wonderful readers and friends,**_

_**~bo-leigh bella**_


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